I saw them dismantle my life. The frame of the bed, the shelf, the landscape picture that Aunt Alice had worshiped: everything was taken away and loaded into the truck. At noon, my room was empty. At 2:00 p.m., my office was already empty.
My phone kept vibrating with updates from Italy. Mom sent me pictures of her hotel suite. Dad sent me a picture of his food in business class. They were having a great time, completely oblivious that the foundations of their lives were crumbling abroad.
I responded with enthusiastic emojis, feeding his ego one last time.
When the migrants left for Dallas, I stayed for one last crucial task.
I walked into the garage, where
And that’s exactly what happened.
I thought about Aunt Alice, her rose bush, her kindness and the legacy she had left me. I wanted me to have security, a wonderful place to build my life. My parents had turned that gift into a prison, so I burned it and left.
What if the fire burned them too? Well, they lit the match when they destroyed those roses.
