Chapter 5: Locked Out, Let Go

Father and son wasted no time. As soon as Tanya’s dad’s nurse finished her last shift, his suitcase was moved into our house. The spare room was cleared, and the hospital bed set up, all while I kept to myself, planning quietly.

Meanwhile, Natalie messaged: the expedited visa was approved, the ticket booked—the flight left early the morning after next.

“Mom, don’t worry about anything. I’ll be there as soon as you get off the plane.”

It was an unspoken understanding between mothers and daughters. I didn’t tell Frank or Derek about the flight. Natalie didn’t either.

On the first day, Frank actually tried to care for Tanya’s dad. I watched from the doorway as he changed diapers, gagging and cursing under his breath, the smell making him pale. He couldn’t manage the wipes, nearly vomiting as he cleaned up.

By the end of the day, Derek came home and started griping. “Dad’s back is ruined, and some people just sit on the sofa all day watching TV, like they have no conscience.”

I ignored them, carefully watering the begonias on the balcony. Those plants were finicky—too much water and they’d rot, too little and they’d wilt. I couldn’t take them with me overseas, so I gave them to my friend, along with my favorite mug and a few photos.

Frank’s muttering got louder, Derek’s tone sharper. They kept looking my way, waiting for me to say something, to step in, to save them from themselves.

But I just turned and walked into my room, shutting the door gently behind me.

I knew them too well. They relied on my soft heart—take on the job, then dump it on me. But not this time.

After more than thirty years, Frank had never seen me so unmoved. He always thought I’d give in—he never believed I could really leave.

That night, Dave called to invite Frank fishing. He put the call on speaker, clearly wanting me to hear. But since he didn’t mention it to me, I set my alarm early and left the house before sunrise, not looking back.

I just didn’t expect that when I came home, my key wouldn’t fit the lock. The door was brand new. The old key, worn smooth from years of use, was useless.

I called Derek. He hesitated before answering, voice small: “Mom, can’t you just apologize to Dad? I have to go to work, and it’s hard for me to get involved in your issues.”

I felt the truth settle in my stomach like a stone. Frank had changed the locks. I heard his voice inside, thick with anger: “Now you want to come back? You like running out so much—then don’t ever come back!”

I stood outside, hands trembling, the air cold against my skin. My mind reeled with memories: I remembered a fight, years ago, just after Derek was born. I’d caught Frank flirting with the widow next door. I ran to my parents’ house, Derek in my arms, sobbing. I thought about divorce, back then. But my brother and sister-in-law complained—too many mouths to feed. My mother told me: “Men are all like this, but as long as they come home, they’re good men. For the kids, you just have to endure. Married daughters can’t come back home.”

I realized, then, that I had nowhere to go. So I went back, tail between my legs. Frank locked me out that time too, only letting me in when Derek wailed loud enough to wake the neighbors. He’d looked at me with that same smirk: “I knew you’d come crawling back.”

Just like now.

Last night, Natalie asked me why I suddenly wanted a divorce. I hadn’t known how to answer then. Now, standing outside my own home, I understood: the things I hadn’t had the courage to do when I was young—I couldn’t run from them forever.