“We did not abandon her.”
“You drove away.”
“She was safe.”
“You drove away.”
“We sent you the pin.”
“You drove away.”
Eventually there was nothing left for her to rename.
My father came back onto the call and said I would regret tearing the family apart over one mistake.
I told him a mistake was forgetting a suitcase.
A mistake was taking the wrong exit.
A mistake was buying the wrong departure time.
Leaving an eight-year-old alone because keeping her with you was inconvenient was a decision.
Then I told them the financial support was ending too.
My mother’s response came instantly.
“What do our bills have to do with Abigail?”
That question answered another one I had carried for years without realizing it.
They had separated my usefulness from my humanity.
Money was family business when they needed mine.
Abigail was apparently my problem when she needed them.
