Small victories mattered when everything else was held together by effort.
Thanksgiving came and campus emptied almost overnight. Parking lots cleared. Dorm windows went dark. The whole place grew so quiet it felt abandoned.
I stayed.
Travel home was impossible financially, and even if I had somehow managed it, I was no longer sure I would have been missed.
Still, I called.
My mother answered after several rings, her voice distracted by laughter behind her.
“Oh, Avery, happy Thanksgiving.”
I could picture the scene before she even described it—warm lights, full table, Sadie telling stories from Ashford Heights while my father looked proud.
“Can I talk to Dad?” I asked.
There was a pause.
Then, muffled but unmistakable, I heard his voice in the background.
“Tell her I’m busy.”
The words landed softly, but they landed hard.
My mother came back on the line too quickly.
“He’s in the middle of something.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I just wanted to say hi.”
She asked whether I was eating enough, whether I needed anything.
I looked down at the instant noodles on my desk and the cheap blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
After I hung up, I made the mistake of opening social media.
