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

As the semester progressed, I found myself thinking less and less about my parents and Henry. I was too busy with my classes, my weekend job at the cafe, which I kept because I genuinely enjoyed it, and my new position as a research assistant. Grandma visited again in late April, taking me shopping and to a fancy dinner.

How are you really doing, she asked over dessert. I’m good, really good, actually. I smiled, I never knew life could be this, uncomplicated.

That’s how it should be at your age. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Your only job right now is to learn and grow.

I got a letter from Mom, I told her. Grandma’s eyebrows rose, and? No real apology, just an update that they’ve moved and Henry’s in rehab again. Are you going to respond? I shook my head, not now, maybe someday, but I’m not ready.

That’s fair, Grandma nodded, you take all the time you need. As final exams approached, I threw myself into studying. My psychology professor had hinted that if I maintained my grades, I might qualify for a summer research stipend.

It was an opportunity one never would have had before. One evening, as I was walking back to my dorm from the library, my phone rang. Unknown number.

Hello, I answered cautiously. Amanda, a male voice, vaguely familiar, it’s Henry. I’m calling from the rehab center.

Part of my recovery is making amends. I sat on a nearby bench, unsure what to say. I know what Mom and Dad did, he continued when I didn’t speak…