During a family gathering, my grandmother inquired, «Is the $1,500 I send you each month sufficient?» I responded..

Who are you and what have you done with Amanda, she laughed, throwing a pillow at me. The week before spring break, I received a call from Aunt Kathy, my mom’s sister. Amanda, she said, her voice serious, I thought you should know.

Your parents sold the house. They’re renting an apartment. They’re struggling, Amanda.

The money from the house barely covered Henry’s debts. I felt a twinge of sympathy but pushed it away, that was their choice. I know, I’m not saying you should help them.

Just, thought you should know. She paused, Henry’s in a rehab facility again. Intensive inpatient program.

Maybe this time it’ll stick. After we hung up, I sat on my bed, thinking about my brother. Despite everything, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.

He was a victim of his own addiction, but also of our parents’ enabling. They’d never taught him consequences, never made him face the results of his actions. I called grandma that night and told her about my conversation with Aunt Kathy.

Are you okay, she asked. Yeah, I think I am, I surprised myself with how true it was. I feel sad for them, but not responsible.

Good, because you’re not responsible for their choices. Grandma’s voice was firm, you focus on building your life. And that’s what I did.

Spring break in Miami was everything I’d never let myself dream of, sunshine, beaches, laughter with friends. I bought a new swimsuit without checking the price tag first, ordered whatever I wanted at restaurants, and even splurged on a parasailing adventure. When we returned to campus, tanned and refreshed, a letter was waiting for me in my mailbox.

I recognized my mother’s handwriting immediately and almost threw it away unopened. But curiosity won out. Inside was a short note, Amanda, we’ve moved to a smaller place.

The address is below if you ever want to visit. Henry is in rehab again. The doctors think he might have a chance this time if he sticks with the program.

Your father and I have been doing a lot of thinking. We made mistakes, big ones. We can’t change the past, but we want you to know we’re proud of you for standing on your own two feet.

Love, Mom. No apology, no acknowledgment of the harm they’d caused. Just a vague admission of mistakes and an address I had no intention of visiting.

I showed the letter to Sarah, who rolled her eyes, that’s it. After everything? That’s it, I tucked the letter into my desk drawer. But honestly, I didn’t expect even this much…