I smiled in tears.
“If you want to understand, Robert, don’t look at his face.”
“Exactly.
A few months later, my father successfully underwent the necessary intervention.
And Mom did something that made us all laugh.
He bought a coat.
Blue.
Almost the same screen as the one I had in the storefront when I was twelve.
When she got home dressed, she was wandering around the middle of the living room.
“In what?”
Dad looked at her from top to bottom.
“How much did it cost?”
The whole family was paralyzed.
Then Dad smiled.
“I was joking.
I think it was the first time I heard him joke about money.
Mom threw a pillow at him.
After a few weeks, I was alone with my father.
I took a picture of his anniversary.
To him, seriously.
Mom, holding her hand.
“Father?”
“Isn’t it?”
“For a long time, I thought your mother was staying with you because she was afraid to leave.
He kept quiet.
“What do you think now?”
I looked at the picture again.
“I think maybe he grabbed your hand because he knew something we didn’t.
Dad smiled.
“Your mother always knew more than all of us.”
I laughed.
But before I left, he said,
“Don’t make me a hero.”
I'm back.
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t.
He looked into the room where his mother was.
“I did some things right and some wrong. Most importantly, she knew the truth.”
I nodded.
And perhaps that was the most important lesson of all.
