CHAPTER 3

  “She looks at us like we’re enemies,” I said, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Like we did something wrong to her. Like we aren’t a big reason they can both live better lives now—after everything.”

  “She’s hurt,” Raymond replied. His voice was low. Flat. Not unkind—just finished.

  “She’s always hurt,” I snapped. “Everyone’s always hurt when it comes to Elias.”

  I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

  I wasn’t trying to defend my son. Not really. I couldn’t justify most of his decisions—they were his, and he’d made them without asking anyone’s permission. But watching the pieces fall apart while everyone stood around assigning blame—blaming her, blaming him—that’s what made my chest burn.

  “Maybe if he showed up like he used to—” I started.

  “Don’t,” Raymond cut in immediately. “Don’t talk like he’s going to listen. And don’t pretend you’d actually say this to him.”

  I shot him a look. “You never say anything until I do. Then suddenly I’m the problem.”

  “I’m saying there are kids in the backseat,” he replied calmly. “And maybe this conversation waits.”

  I glanced in the mirror.

  EJ’s face was pressed to the window, lips moving as he traced shapes through the fog with his finger. Clouds, probably. Completely unaware. Sweet. Still untouched by the bitterness stretched between his parents like a wall no one admitted they’d built.

  “We said we’d help,” I muttered.

  “And we are.”

  “No, Ray. We said we’d help—not be messengers. Not chauffeurs. Not the ones explaining why his dad is late some weeks and absent others. Not the ones filling in the blanks.”

  Raymond didn’t respond.

  We pulled into the driveway, and EJ was already unbuckling himself, hopping out before I could say a word. He ran straight for the front door, calling for one of the neighborhood cats he always tried to sneak food to.

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  “He looks just like him at that age,” I whispered.

  Raymond nodded. “Yeah. He does.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Some truths never softened.

  “I wonder if that girl even knows how bad it got,” I said quietly. “If she’s judging the man without ever knowing the boy.”

  Raymond turned to me sharply. “It’s not our place to figure that out. What’s done is done. He’s grown.”

  Later, I sat at the kitchen table, the refrigerator humming in the background. My tea had gone cold. Raymond sat across from me, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wall instead of my face.

  It had been this way for years.

  Conversations that never landed. Silence doing the talking.

  “He’s picking EJ up late again,” I said, more to myself than him.

  Raymond sighed. “He’ll probably text. Or call. Say something came up. We’ll keep him overnight, and he’ll grab him from school tomorrow.”

  I frowned. “Do you think we’re making the right choices now?”

  “You think talking to him will change anything?”

  I wanted to argue. To tell him he was wrong.

  But I couldn’t—not when I remembered how young Elias had been when he started treating us like roommates. How distant he’d grown. It was why I still appreciated Danielle, in a strange way. She’d brought him back into our lives for a time. Even now, she still asked me things. Still slipped and called me mom once in a while. I went to her parties, even when Elias didn’t like it.

  She was hurt.

  But he was still my son.

  “He’s a good person,” I said, because I needed it to be true.

  Raymond scoffed. “You say that like you’re convincing yourself.”

  I was.

  Because being a good father wasn’t just about showing up—it was about staying. About giving pieces of yourself away. And Elias had spent most of his life learning how not to do that.

  “Maybe you could talk to him,” I tried. “You shut it down earlier because EJ was around.”

  “And what good would it do?” Raymond replied. “We never agree. When I say left, he goes right. Then up. Then somewhere else entirely.”

  Not an exaggeration.

  “So we just sit with it?” I asked.

  “It’s not our time anymore,” he said. “He tells us what he needs. We do what we can. We had our chance.”

  We gave up once.

  And somehow, we’d done it again.

  Elias had been an emotional kid. Until he wasn’t. One day the tears stopped. The yelling took their place. Then even that quieted.

  No one ever taught him what to do with the rest.

  EJ padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Mammy, can you rub my feet?”

  I smiled instantly. “You’re just like your father. It’s uncanny.”

  Lowering my voice so EJ couldn’t hear, I said to Raymond, “I’m putting him to bed. Then I’m going to sleep.”

  He waved me off.

  I lifted my grandson into my arms. “Tell Grandpa goodnight.”

  “But I wanted to wait for Dad,” EJ murmured, already half asleep.

  I smiled, gentle and honest. “That goodnight wasn’t for you. It was in case Grandpa falls asleep in his chair.”

  He giggled weakly.

  “We’ll watch a movie,” I added. “I’ll rub your feet until your dad gets here.”

  At least this time—

  I wouldn’t pretend things were different than they were.

  For his sake.