not.
And he looked at me.
A mother who had just lost one child.
A woman struggling to stand upright.
A mother still responsible for a grieving five-year-old.
He decided he could not make me carry him too.
So instead of telling me the truth, Carl left.
He knew I would hate him.
He knew I would interpret his leaving as abandonment.
Apparently, he believed that was better.
He told himself anger would be easier for me to carry than his illness.
And before leaving, he told my father everything.
