"Okay," I nod, pride swelling in my chest toward my youngest.
I walk over to the counter and grab Noah's letter out of my purse. When I hand it to him, he takes it only after a moment of hesitation.
"Can I go read it now?"
I nod, pressing a kiss to his head. "If you want to talk about it after, come find me. Okay?"
He stands up from the table, giving me a quick hug, and heads upstairs.
I take my time cleaning up dinner, loading our plates into the dishwasher, wiping down the counters, and giving Liam some time to calm down before I talk to him.
Also, so I can really think about what to say to him.
This is a conversation I need to tread delicately with. There has to be a balance—protecting Atlas' dignity, while also validating my son's feelings.
Liam is not wrong to feel hurt, angry, and betrayed. I don't want to dismiss those feelings; I want him to work through them. I want tohelphim work through them.
When I finally knock on Liam's door, I hear him say, "Come in," in a short, low tone.
I walk into his bedroom, seeing him lying on his bed watching basketball highlights. He doesn't look at me, but he mutes the television off to let me know he's listening.
I sit on the edge of his bed and start softly.
"You're hurt," I whisper, Liam's jaw tensing. "I know you're hurt. I know he hurt you, and I'm... I'm so sorry, Liam. But youwill not talk about your father—or anyone—seeking help the way that you did."
His eyes shift over the room, not looking at me, but the look on his face reads regret.
"What if someone spoke about Birdie like that?"
That gets his attention. He looks at me with his dark eyes blazing, hand curling into a fist, gritting his teeth and giving me his answer to what he would do.
So much like your father.
"Daddy is not in an insane asylum. He isnotcrazy. He... He was suffering mentally, baby. He washurting.What your father is going through is something he didn't ask for. And he's trying to get better now..."
My voice breaks, emotion clogging my throat. "But he hurt us, so it's... confusing, right?"
Liam nods.
"I feel the same way," I say quietly. "I love your father, and I want him to get better—but he still hurt me. I think both those things can be true at the same time. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," Liam whispers, slowly opening up.
"Is that how you feel?"
"He didn't hurt me," he insists stubbornly, before sighing and sitting up. "I don't know, I just... feel angry. He stopped being interested in us. I'd ask him to shoot hoops, and he'd say later—but later never came. He wouldn't come to my games. He didn't even ask about it. Same with Noah. Same with you. Why is he trying now?"
I nod at his words, because he's right to feel them. And he did all of that to Liam, to Noah, to me. I can't excuse it.
"I think sometimes it takes a while to see when something is wrong," I say, inwardly referring to my own situation.
I didn't know how unhappy I was until that day Atlas missed the appointment. That was the moment I made a choice: to change, to grow, to actually move toward my own happiness.
"But then we do, and we do everything in our power to makethings right. I think that's what your dad is going through now. I think he really wants to make things right with you and your brother now. I think he's really sorry."
He doesn't respond, but the anger in his face softens into something more thoughtful.
I wrap my arm around his shoulders. "I don't expect you to forgive him. Not yet. Not when he hasn't made things right with you, and getting help doesn't erase the hurt—but it does matter. It means he's trying. That's a brave thing."
