At 30,000 Feet, I Watched My Wife Crawl Across the Floor With Both Legs in Casts While My Mother Hid Her Crutches—Then I Noticed What Was Recording Behind Them

Still no.

“Everyone thinks Clara controls you.”

They’re allowed to think that.

Still no.

I had spent my whole life constructing explanations good enough that Mom would accept boundaries.

There usually wasn’t one.

The better skill was tolerating her displeasure.

Therapy taught me that.