“I know.”
“You scared them.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“And I wasn’t here.”
“That isn’t on you.”
“Some of it is.”
Derek looked at me.
I had spent years believing my monthly transfers were a form of care.
And they were.
But money was convenient.
Money did not require me to notice Dad sounded tired.
Money did not ask why Mom suddenly stopped complaining about Derek, when she had always complained freely before.
Money let me live five hours away and tell myself I was taking care of them.
Derek saw the thought on my face.
“You called.”
“Not enough.”
“You came when Mom called.”
“After four months.”
“Gabriel.”
He leaned against the wall.
“We can both spend the next ten years deciding which one of us failed them more.”
He glanced toward the kitchen where Dad was making coffee.
“Or we can stop failing them.”
It was the wisest thing my brother had said in years.
