My dad finally had the talk he wanted to have with me about our “communication problems.” It was exactly as I expected, so I kept my head down, calm, nodded, agreed, whatever it took and it ended up surprisingly low key.
Then of course he had to go and say, well, I don’t know much longer your mother can last like this. I think we might have to sell this house. I might have to retire. We’ll see. But I guess these aren’t your problems. Sorry.
And now I feel like the little shit I know I am.