A family gathers as a loved one dies and a child remains missing. A mother's silence over years, a hospice nurse's warning that time is running out, and accusations of avoidance force them to confront secrets they've buried. One character turns to weekly counseling and journaling to survive it.
Auntie Cheryl, I didn't run. I escaped. You can't escape family.
I bet that thing has a few stories.
More than you know. But she the only family I got out here.
Now I know that's not true. Your mother told me stories about you and your sisters. I think she would want them there. I think they would want to be here.
Pretty sure she ain't tell you everything.
Apparently, look, the hospice nurse said that she might not make it through the night.
Mom ain't did nothing but loved him. And I just don't understand how you go years without speaking to your own mom. But for her to know what was going on all those years and not do nothing about it, it's unforgivable.
So no, I don't have no intentions of holding your hand, okay? I'm not here to do that. I want you to tell me where my son at. Man, you know where your son at.
I go see a counselor every week to make sure I'm on the up and up, all right? And he thought it'd be a good idea to write my thoughts down and shit.
But we never talk about it. You shut down and Kiara, you run from it. So I'm the one that's left to take it.
The one thing that I've learned from all this is at the end of the day, all we have is each other.
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