Chapter 2
Six years ago, when Dad was diagnosed with diabetes complications.
Damian said, "Iris, since you're divorced and don't have much going on, I'll leave it to you to take care of Dad."
That year, I was thirty-three, and my daughter Dawn was four.
The year after the divorce, I was working as a stocker at a supermarket, making 1400 dollars a month.
Leave it to me?
He really made it sound so simple.
I kept quiet. The next day, I moved back into Dad's old house.
The 6 hundred square feet place had two bedrooms, a living room, and peeling paint no one fixed.
I took the smaller bedroom, and Dawn and I squeezed onto the same bed.
Dad took the bigger room, and his night cough was loud enough to be heard throughout the building.
The first year was alright.
Dad could still get around. I worked by day, then scooted to the market after five to buy groceries and cook.
Dad's blood pressure and diabetes meds cost over 150 dollars monthly.
I did the math.
My salary was 1200 dollars. After paying 250 dollars for rent and utilities, 400 dollars for Dawn's kindergarten, 300 dollars for food, and 150 dollars for meds, I was left with 15 dollars.
15 dollars wasn't enough to save.
It wasn't even enough for a haircut.
Back then, I thought Dad's pension was only 200 dollars.
That's what he told me.
"The factory's not doing well, so my pension's pretty small."
I believed him.
So every month, Dad got 700 dollars—200 from his pension and 500 from me, just like that.
With all that, we were just barely scraping by on food, clothes, and meds.
Where was Damian in all this?
He only came by twice during Christmas's in those first two years.
The first time, he brought a box of milk with just two weeks left before it went bad.
The second time, he gave 650 dollars in cash.
When Candace came in, she swapped her shoes for slippers.
Dawn went over and greeted her, "Auntie."
She just nodded, not bothering to crouch down.
After dinner, she took out her phone and took a picture of Dad.
Then she posted it on her social media.
[Family dinner with Dad—nothing matters more than good health.]
I was in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes—eight sets of dishes to wash.
They showed up as a family of three, plus me, Dawn, and Dad—six people total.
But somehow, I was left with dishes for eight.
Even though she ordered takeout in disposable containers, I still ended up washing the dishes, utensils, and cups she used.
As they were heading out, Candace said, "Iris, if you need anything, just say the word."
I just said, "Okay."
After that, I only spoke up three times.
The first time, Dad was in the hospital. I asked her to watch him while I picked up Dawn from school.
She said she had a yoga class that day.
The second time, the meds went up by 50 dollars a month. I asked Damian if he could chip in for half.
He said money was tight and he'd help out next month.
But next month came and went, and he never did.
I didn't ask again.
The third time, Dawn was burning up with a fever, so I rushed her to the ER. No one was there to watch Dad.
I called him again.
He didn't pick up.
The next day, he texted me, [Had a business dinner last night and drank too much—missed your call. Dad's alright, right?]
I replied, [He's fine.]
After that, I stopped speaking up and kept everything to myself from then on.