He wrote letters.
The first apologized.
The second explained.
The third apologized for explaining.
I read that one twice.
Then I stopped opening them for nearly a year.
Noah knows his father made a terrible decision.
At eight, we did not give him every legal detail.
Neither did Lucas.
As they grew, therapists helped us tell them more.
Truth should be age appropriate.
Not absent.
I had learned what absence could do.
Two years after the day Cedarbrook Elementary called me, Noah and Lucas are ten.
They are at my house as I write this.
Arguing.
Naturally.
Apparently Lucas believes Noah cheated during a racing game.
Noah believes “using the shortcut is literally part of the game.”
Rachel is in my kitchen opening a bottle of sparkling water.
She no longer knocks when she comes over.
That happened slowly.
One evening, she simply walked in carrying groceries.
I realized afterward that I liked it.
