I caught my dad on my security camera planning to move my brother into my house while I was on a trip, and when my mom said, “Once everything is here, she will not make a scene. She will just accept it,” I set a trap for them.

I did not feel triumphant.

I did not feel much of anything.

“How is she taking it?”

“Not well. Your father says she barely leaves the house.”

I closed my eyes.

“I didn’t want this, Aunt Linda. I just wanted her to understand.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she said. “But understanding and consequences are not the same thing. She’s facing both now.”

That same week, my father called me.

It was the first time he had ever initiated contact without my mother prompting him.

“Your mother is struggling,” he said, his voice tired. “I’m not calling to guilt you. I’m calling because I should have done more a long time ago.”

“You should have,” I said.

“I know.”

A long pause followed.

“Myra, I love you,” he said. “And I’m sorry I let you down.”

It was not enough.

But it was more than I had ever gotten before.