“No,” he says, his tone cutting and calm. “You’re a drunk. That’s worse.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs.
He doesn’t give me time to argue. “Now you’re going to say goodnight to Milo. You’ll tell him you’re staying with me for a while and that you’ll see him tomorrow when we drop him at school.”
He waits, watching me with that stern, unflinching look that used to make me behave when I was a kid.
Only this time, it’s not big-brother authority he’s using.
It’s the truth I don’t want to face.
I nod reluctantly. “Fine.”
I grab the duffel, the weight of it nothing compared to what’s sitting in my chest, and walk toward the house. Every step feels heavier than the last. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Lore, and the truth is, I’m terrified to even see her.
Harvey’s right, though. Just because she isn’t throwing everything in my face doesn’t mean I get to ignore what she’s going through. She’s pregnant. She needs calm, comfort, space… not a husband who… not me.
She deserves to be pampered, protected, not stressed to the point of breaking.
So, I make myself a promise as I reach for the door handle.
I’ll stay with Harvey. I’ll get my shit together. And I’ll come by whenever she’ll let me, help with the kids, help with the house, with anything she needs.
I’ll show up for her. For Milo. For the baby.
Even if I can’t stay here tonight… I’m not walking away from them.
Turns out I’m worrying for nothing. Lore is nowhere in sight, and Harvey plants himself at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest like a human blockade. I pretend not to notice that my own brother feels the need to shield my wife from me.
I crouch in front of Milo and block the TV. He groans and tries to lean around me.
“Daddy,” he complains.
I ignore the tone and turn the TV off. “Listen, buddy,” I start gently. “I have to go away for a few days.”
He crosses his arms, exactly like Harvey and narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I search for the words. “Well… Uncle Harvey needs help, so I’m gonna go stay with him for a little bit.”
His whole face lights in panic. “Can I come?”
I shake my head. “You have to stay here with Mommy and look after her, okay?”
Milo’s mouth twists. “No. I’m big. I can come. I wanna come.”
“I know, bud,” I say softly. “But you have to stay.”
He hops of the couch and steps closer, grabbing onto my shirt with both hands, tugging hard. “No! Daddy, no! I go too! I go wif you!”
“Milo-”
He stomps his foot, little jaw clamped tight. “NO! I don’t WANT you to go!” His voice cracks and rises into that sharp, desperate pitch kids hit right before they cry. “Stay here! Stay wif me!”
I swallow hard, keep my hands gentle on his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I promise.”
He pulls away so fast I almost lose my balance. His face scrunches up, angry tears gathering. “I DON’T WANT A PROMISE!” he yells, then spins around and bolts for the stairs.
“Milo-”
