“If you two are not out of this house by six o’clock,” I said, “I am waking up every single person in these bedrooms and showing them this paper.”

They didn’t argue. By the time the sun started coming up over the water, I heard their car trunk slam in the driveway. They drove off without saying goodbye to anyone.

I went downstairs and helped Mom up off the floor. Her back was stiff, and she had a red mark on her cheek from the rolled-up towel.

“Where did Brittany go?” Mom asked, looking around the quiet kitchen.

“She had an emergency,” I told her. “She had to leave early.”

I led Mom up the stairs and opened the door to the master suite. The big bed was still unmade, but the sheets were warm and the view of the ocean was beautiful.

“This is your room now, Mom,” I said.

She looked at the big pillows, then back at me. “Are you sure, honey? I don’t want to take up too much space.”

I couldn’t even speak. I just nodded and tucked her into those soft white sheets.

It has been three weeks since that trip. Marcus won’t take my calls, and Brittany has blocked me on Facebook. The family is split down the middle now. Some of them think I went too far by kicking them out in the middle of the night.

I am sitting in my own kitchen now, looking at that yellow crayon on the counter. I know I broke my family apart. But then I think of my mother’s shaking hands on that cold floor, and honestly, I would do it all over again.