I Thought Sending My Son to His Father Was the Right Choice—Until I Realized He Needed Me More Than Ever

draped over chairs, music too loud through the wall, cups migrating mysteriously to the bathroom sink no matter how many times I ask him to bring them back to the kitchen.

He writes little notes to himself now too, and tapes them above his desk. Remember to breathe. One step at a time. You’re not alone, Mase.

He teases me about my ancient phone and my continue reading …