Four years ago I sold my home and left a stimulating, lucrative job in Melbourne, Australia, to move to a touristy island in Florida and take care of my nonagenarian parents. Nicole, my partner of twelve years, stayed behind. She visited me for six months, and I returned to see her a few times, but really we were just tortuously breaking up. So, at fifty-four, more or less divorced from my more-or-less spouse, I’m living in a place I left at the age of twelve and spending most of my time and all of my energy caring for the people who raised me, who are now increasingly demented and needy.