on, I turned back to my parents. They looked smaller somehow.
“I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine,” I said. “Because it’s not. But if you want to have a real conversation — honest, no deflecting — I’ll listen. Someday.”
Mom was crying again.
“We love you, Francis. We’ve always loved you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But love isn’t just words. It’s choices.continue reading …