I stepped between them.
I stood there in my robe, staring at the empty chair.
“Richard, bring him back! Where will he go?!”
“He’ll figure it out,” my husband said, pouring himself fresh coffee. “That’s the whole point.”
***
The first week, I called Ethan every day. The second week, I told myself I’d give him space and called anyway. By the end of the month, I was leaving voicemails the way other people prayed, into a silence that never answered back.
“Sweetheart, it’s Mom. Just tell me you’re eating. That’s all. Just that.”
Nothing.
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