He starts to stand, face reddening. I feel bad immediately. What he said was f****d-up, sure, but slapping him was probably a step too far. “Rob, I—”
Mom lets out a cry from the bedroom. I’m immediately on my feet, rushing so fast I almost trip.
I yank open the door. She’s on the floor, panting, her whole body twisted.
“Rob!” I cry. “Call 911, now!”
The next few hours are chaos: the ambulance arriving; sitting in the back telling Mom everything will be okay as she stutters and dribbles and waves her hands in agony and I wrack my brains wondering how we are ever going to pay for all this.
In the waiting room, as I nurse my third cup of shitty hospital lobby coffee, Rob takes out a small slip of paper and hands it to me.
There’s a lawyer’s office address written on it.
“This is the ma
