By twenty, I had stopped expecting anything different.

The house became a place where I slept, showered, and occasionally ate dinner.

Dad and I passed each other like coworkers whose shifts barely overlapped.

He left for repair jobs early in the morning.

I worked afternoons and evenings at the grocery store.

Sometimes several days passed without us sharing more than a few sentences.

“Mail came.”

“There’s food in the fridge.”