“I blame him for what happened to our parents,” she says quietly. “I can’t look at him without being reminded of it. I thought of all the different ways I could leave him. Like he was a dog. Couple months ago. I took him to help me do some laundry. Gave him a dollar to go to the vending machine. And when he wasn’t looking—I got back in my car. Drove away.” She covers her mouth at the memory.
