"We got married this afternoon. Lindsay will be living here now."
Henry stares at me like I've announced the sun has stopped rising.
I wait for him to recalibrate.
Lindsay steps slightly closer to him, instinctive, familiar.
"Hi Henry," she says gently. "Good to see you again."
He gives her a tight smile—polite, forced—before turning his attention back to me.
"You got remarried," Henry says, eyes locked on me now.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
Which is worse, and immediately obvious.
"I told you things were changing," I reply. "That I was working with a matchmaking service."
Henry shakes his head slowly.
"You didn't say you were getting married."
His voice cracks slightly.
I have the urge to explain—logically, carefully.
Timelines. Process. How ERS works. Why this made sense. Why it was fast. Why it was necessary.
But the words won't form. They scatter instead.
Henry is ten.
He doesn't need or want my explanations.
Even if they are logical.
"The timeline accelerated," I say instead. "It was the right decision."
"For who?"
The question is quiet. Direct.
I don't have an immediate answer.
Lindsay shifts her weight, clearly uncomfortable but staying silent. Letting me handle this.
Henry looks at her, then back at me.
His jaw tightens—an expression I recognize because I've seen it in the mirror.
"You could've told me," he says finally.
"I'm telling you now."
"After it already happened."
