“Can we stop for ice cream?” Ethan asks the moment he gets into the backseat of my dad’s old car. It’s the only thing he left behind the day he walked out on us.

Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s almost been ten years. I remember it like it was yesterday...

My mom was pregnant with Ethan. She was glowing. I recall her long hair blowing in the wind as she set up a family picnic in the backyard. She wanted to surprise Dad with it when he got home from work. I was seven years old, but I was so excited to get to eat snacks and spend time with Mom and Dad.

To be honest, I was a little jealous that another boy was on the way. I wanted to be the only boy—the only child. I didn’t want to share my parents’ love. So, I was taking advantage of all the time I could get with them before the baby arrived and took them away from me. I knew how parents got with a new baby. I compared it to how I got when I got a new toy—the old ones forgotten.

I ran to the door the moment I saw Dad’s car pull into the driveway. I eagerly shouted his name, but he didn’t hear me. He looked different somehow—he looked sad. I asked him how his day had gone but he ignored me. He just hung his coat, set down his briefcase, and walked straight to the backyard.

I followed behind him until he told me to go upstairs and play.

I begged to go outside, but he said no.

I didn’t want to miss out on the food and I wanted to play with them. But my dad made it clear I was to stay inside the house and not come out unless he said so. I was confused. Dad had never talked to me like that before. I wondered if the baby effect had already taken hold; it wasn’t even out of her stomach yet. Did they want to be together, just the three of them?

I didn’t go up to my room right away. Instead, I stood by the kitchen window, trying to see what was happening in the backyard.

I saw my mother’s eyes light up as she stood unsteadily from the blanket, ready to hug him—to welcome him home.

He avoided her kiss, turning his face away.

My mother’s eyes were questioning, wondering what was going on. I knew, even at that early age, that she was asking him if something was wrong.

He spoke to her, her eyes watching him intensely. She didn’t seem to move until my dad said something that made her cover her mouth with her hand.

Tears began to stream down her face.

She shook her head while Dad just stood there. He didn’t try to make the tears stop.

I’d never been mad at my dad before, but he was making my mom cry.

He wasn’t supposed to do that.

He walked back into the kitchen, barely glancing at me, and into the living room. Following, I saw him pick up his briefcase.

Approaching cautiously, I asked, “Where are you going, daddy?”

Shrugging on his coat, he looked back at me briefly before opening the door and walking away.

I still remember the sound of the door shutting in my face.

That was the last time I ever heard from him. After he left, things were okay for a few years—Mom was managing—but three years later that all changed. When I was ten, Richard walked into our lives, shaking it up all over again.

“Hello, are you there? Can we pretty please get ice cream?” Ethan asks pulling me from my thoughts. I didn’t realize I’d dived so far into my memories.

“Yeah, of course, buddy. We’ll stop on our way home,” I tell him. Putting the car in drive, I look back at my little brother. Even though I don’t remember much else about my father, I remember more than Ethan ever will. He never got to meet our father, has never even seen a photo. My mother erased his memory from our lives that same night.

I mean, she’s told me story after story. Dad lost his job. Dad stopped loving her. Dad didn’t want to be a dad. Dad was having an affair. She kept giving me reason after reason, excuse after excuse, but the story changed every time so I don’t know what to believe.

All I know is that my father wasn’t a real man. A real man doesn’t walk out on his pregnant wife—on his sons.

Now, I only remember him as the person that caused my mother to make one bad choice after another. I realize it’s not entirely his fault, but if it weren’t for him leaving us, perhaps she’d be different. Perhaps she’d be okay.

Shaking my head, I push down my thoughts and questions, pull out of the parking lot, and drive toward the ice cream shop.

“Thank you for taking me to get ice cream,” Ethan says the moment we get home.

I ruffle his hair. “No problem, buddy.”

“We should do that every day,” he says with a smile.

Yeah, right. “I’m not getting you ice cream every day. Maybe once a week. We can do ice cream Fridays.”

“That works for me,” he says with a smirk.

I shake my head when I realize he’s played me. “I see what you did there,” I tell him proudly. He’ll be a great negotiator. I wonder what he’ll want to study in the future. I wonder who he’ll become.

“You gotta be smarter than that,” he says, patting me on the back.

I nod. “I agree. I can’t let you play me like that.” I take the steps up to Ethan’s room two at a time and when I turn back, I see him doing the same. He’s emulating me, doing as I do.

Working on that theory, I take the steps one at a time instead, smiling when I see him copying me again.

He wants to be like me, which makes me want to be better. For him.

When we reach the top of the stairs, we walk straight into his room to start on his homework.

“I’m just going to get changed,” I tell him. “Be right back.”

I leave Ethan to pull out his books while I go to my room and change into something more comfortable. Grabbing the books and notebooks I need for my homework, I walk back towards Ethan’s room.

I’m about to open the door to Ethan’s room when I hear the sound of water running. I don’t think anything of it until I see a small puddle of water in front of my mother’s bedroom door.

Swearing under my breath, I set the books down on a small table and walk towards her bedroom instead.

I step into a flooded room, my exasperation increasing.

“Mom?” I call out. “Jennifer?” Maybe she’ll answer to that instead. After waiting a few more seconds, I turn the knob and let myself into the bathroom…

Where I find my mother on the floor.

Moving quickly, I shut off the water in the shower then check for my mom’s pulse.

It’s weak, but it’s there.

I shake her to try and wake her up. “Mom?” I glance behind me to make sure the door is shut. I don’t want Ethan to come in here. He doesn’t need to see this. “Mom!”

She isn’t responding.

I look down, finding an empty bottle of Oxy on the floor. There are a few pills scattered around, but the majority are gone.

She must have taken them all.

Shit.

“What do I do?” I ask out loud. I need to get the drugs out of her body. Turning her on her side, I pry open her mouth and push my fingers down her throat until she starts to gag. Convulsing, she throws up, and when she’s done, I do it again and again until I feel like there’s nothing left in her stomach.

For a few heart-stopping minutes, I don’t know whether it’s enough…

But then a little color returns to her face and her eyes flutter open.

“Aron?” she says.

“I’m here,” I assure her.

With a grunt, I lift her from the floor and help her into the tub.

Still clothed, I run the water, watching it fall over her—washing away the evidence.

She peers up at me and I see the disappointment in her face. It’s the same disappointment written on mine.

Confident she can sit up unaided, I grab a few towels from under the sink and begin drying the floor.

“Get me out of here, Aron,” she says after a few minutes.

Turning off the water, I towel her dry over her clothes then help her move into her room. Grabbing one of her old nightgowns from her closet, I set it beside her then finish cleaning up the bathroom floor. When I walk out, I find my mother in the same position I’d left her in, her eyes downcast, tears streaming down her face.

“Can you dress yourself?” I ask, the wet towels bundled in my arms.

She doesn’t reply, but I’m too angry to try anymore. I walk towards the door.

“I’m sorry,” she utters as I turn the knob and let myself out.

Throwing the towels into the wash, I head to my room to change out of my wet clothes before going back to Ethan’s room.

“What took you so long?” he asks the moment I walk through the door.

I force a smile. “I couldn’t find my notebook.”

“You really do need to be smarter,” he jokes.

“That I do,” I tell him, ruffling his hair. Sitting down in the chair next to him, we work through his homework, and mine, for the rest of the night. I go downstairs to grab him a snack and then some supper. When he falls asleep, I stay in the room with him.

I know even if I try, I won’t be able to get any rest tonight.