DAVEFour Years LaterI don’t think there’s a manual for moments like this. The kind where you’re watching your ‘not quite mother’ scratch that, let’s just call her Anna, because calling her Mom still makes what Evelyn and I forbidden— walk out of a rehab center while your wife clutches your hand hard enough to bruise bone, and your son, who looks uncannily like her dead father, hums a cartoon theme in the back seat, blissfully unaware of how complicated adults can make their own lives.I parked the car in one of those crooked slots that clearly weren’t designed for people in emotional crisis. Evelyn had been fidgeting since we pulled out of the driveway. Straightening her dress, fixing her lipstick, wiping it off, and then putting it back on again. I swear, if she adjusted the air conditioning one more time, I’d scream. She was as nervous as a teenager meeting her in-laws for the first time. Except in this case, that Anna was her mom.And me? I was just genuinely confused like, “Whi
Last Updated : 2025-07-03 Read more