He was operating a crane on a construction site up north. He’d cut off his mother’s control of his finances and now sent her a fixed monthly amount, strictly for her prescriptions.

He lived alone. He’d learned to cook pasta and fry eggs without dropping shell in the pan.

“I’ve been in therapy every week,” he added. “The psychologist helped me see that in my house growing up, we all confused fear with respect. My mother dominated my father.

My father hid from her. And I learned that to be a man I had to dominate someone.”

I said nothing, listening to him breathe.

“I’m not calling to ask you back,” he said. “I know that’s over. I just wanted to say it was my fault. Not my mom’s. Not the whiskey. I made the choice to threaten you.”