He wasn’t a cruel man to strangers.
My spoon clattered into my coffee. The sound was small, but in that kitchen it felt like a window breaking.
“Richard, no. He’s still our child!”
“He’s an adult,” Richard said, sliding the duffel closer to Ethan’s bare foot. “And adults don’t hide behind their mothers.”
Ethan didn’t move at first. He stared at the bag as if it were a foreign object someone had left on the floor by mistake.
Then my son stood up slowly. His eyes were rimmed red, but his voice came out colder than I’d ever heard it.
“I’ll never forgive either of you.” His gaze slid to me, and the cold cracked into something worse. “And you, Mom, you let him.”
