I sold the house in Tucson.

I did not keep a single thing from it.

I had the shed torn down and the cellar filled with concrete and the whole property signed away, and I felt nothing but relief watching it go, because it had never been a home, only a set for a lie.

With what it brought I did the thing my father would never have asked for: I made sure he would never want for anything again, would never spend another night anywhere but in comfort and safety and light, for whatever years he had left.

He protested.

I did not let him win.