My brother took my mother to the countryside for August – “let her have a break from the apartment building.” On Thursday, my mother called from a neighbor’s phone: she had run out of blood pressure medication, and “Wojtek couldn’t be bothered because he was angry.” I dropped the medication off on Friday. My mother was waiting at the gate with a bag.

Wojtek blushed. Not from anger—from embarrassment. I could see it clearly. He bit his lip, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

“I’ve been here all year alone,” he finally said. “Alone. No one comes, no one calls. I thought Mom would come, it would be more normal. But Mom just sits there, waiting for you to call.”

I realized then something I didn’t want to understand. Wojtek didn’t take my mother to the countryside so she could rest. He took her so he wouldn’t be alone.

But he couldn’t ask for it. He couldn’t say, “It’s hard for me here, it’s lonely, I need someone.” Instead, he organized a “vacation for Mom.” And when Mom turned out to be a guest, not a companion, he became irritated. At her, at himself, at everything.

Mom got up from the table.