Once I left Wade’s house, I had nowhere to go. I found a motel that was semi‑affordable and booked a two‑week stay, hoping that would be enough time to figure out what came next. It was a small room tucked in the back of the building — perfect for hiding. I drove a car you could spot from space, so being out of sight mattered.
The room had a microwave and a tiny fridge. Enough for Rowan and me to eat and pretend we were okay. Rowan was full of questions, like always. Where was Alex? Where were Wade and Clair and Louise? He missed them all. He didn’t understand why we had to leave, why we were hiding, why everything familiar had vanished overnight.
He was matter‑of‑fact when he said Alex punched him in the face, but he held no malice. He didn’t understand she was dangerous. He didn’t understand that I would burn the world down before letting her near him again. Rowan didn’t know hate or mistrust. He was innocent in a way the world rarely allows.
I tried to shelter him from people who didn’t understand him or wished him harm. And I will never forgive myself for the one time I failed. The picture of his face — bloody, bruised — is etched into my memory. I can’t erase it. She hurt my son. Someday, karma will handle her.
Every time he asked about someone from our past, I told him they were gone forever. Even eight months later, he still asks. And I still give the same answer.
The motel room was tiny, and Rowan was a ball of energy. The TV wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. He was exhausting — full of questions, full of needs, full of life. And I was empty. My psyche was frayed. I was burned out in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I had no idea what to do. I needed a place to live. I needed a way to keep him safe while I worked. I’d been taking him to work with me for two months, but that couldn’t continue. If I got caught, I’d lose my job — the only thing I had left after Alex gutted me.
Being around Rowan 24/7 was more than I could handle. I needed help. I had no one.
We were running out of money. Fast.
Working with his caseworker, I found an emergency respite shelter. They would care for him, watch him, give me the space I needed to put some order back into the chaos our life had become. I missed him terribly, but I needed the break. I needed time to breathe. Time to think. Time to stop drowning.
He had his own room there. His own things. A rotating staff so no one burned out. It was perfect. I still saw him every day — I was his transportation to and from his day program — and I tried to keep his routine as normal as possible.
One of the staff told me about a cheap motel down the street. The only one I could afford. I still wasn’t any closer to solving our crisis, but now that Rowan was safe, I finally had space to think.
Living with him and being his sole caretaker was too much. And I finally realized what everyone had been telling me for years: I couldn’t care for him properly on my own. He was too much for one person, and my age wasn’t helping.
His living elsewhere wasn’t a failure. It was inevitable.
I had to do it — for his sake and mine. When I did see him, I could be patient again. I could be present. I could be the mother he deserved instead of the shell I had become.
He was twenty‑three. He needed his own life too.
The decision wasn’t made out of desire. It was made out of necessity. I had fought everyone his whole life to keep him out of a home.
But it was time. And I finally understood that doing what was best for him didn’t always mean keeping him with me.
I finally stopped pretending I could do it alone,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 