“No,” I said immediately, sharper than I meant to. I forced my voice to soften, cupping the back of his head and pulling him into my chest. “No, buddy. Never. This has nothing to do with you.”
He leaned into me without hesitation, arms wrapping around my neck. His grip tightened, small fingers clutching the collar of my shirt like he was afraid I’d disappear too.
“I miss her,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said, my throat burning. “Me too.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, his head tucked under my chin, my hand smoothing over his hair over and over. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet but steady.
“Is she coming back?” he asked.
The truth sat heavy and complicated on my tongue.
“Yes,” I said, because I needed him to believe that. Because I needed to believe it too. “She needs a little time.”
He nodded slowly, accepting the truth the way kids did when they trusted you more than the situation. “Okay.”
I got him breakfast, though neither of us ate much. I packed his lunch, tied his shoes, and listened to him tell me about a dream he’d had where Sassy could talk. I smiled in the right places and laughed when he expected me to, but my chest felt hollow the entire time.
Every room reminded me of her.
The mug she used. The blanket she folded and unfolded ahundred times. The stack of fabric samples still on the table from the shop. I kept seeing her everywhere and nowhere all at once, like my brain hadn’t caught up to reality yet.
When I dropped Miles off at school, he hugged me extra tight before running inside.
“Can we see Aunt Em later?” he asked over his shoulder. “And Sassy?”
“Yes,” I said, because I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else. “We’ll figure it out.”
I sat in the car for a long time after he disappeared through the doors.
My phone sat in my hand, heavy and silent. No new messages. No missed calls. I typed her name, then erased it. Typed again. Deleted it again.
I didn’t know what to say that would bring her back.
What I did know—sitting there in a parking lot that smelled like asphalt and wet leaves—was that this wasn’t over. Not for me. Not for Miles. Not for Em.
And if she thought she had to walk away to protect us, then it was my turn to stop running and start fighting.
I didn’t plan what I was going to say on the drive over.
I just drove.
The city blurred past the windshield, my hands locked tight around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it made my teeth ache. Every stoplight felt like an insult. Every slow car in front of me made my chest burn hotter. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. I’d spent the morning lying to a five-year-old who trusted me with his entire heart.
That was the part I couldn’t forgive.
My parents’ house looked exactly the same as it always had—clean, controlled, untouched by the chaos they’d helped create. The hedges were trimmed. The porch light was off even though it was overcast. The doorbell camera blinked red when Istepped onto the stoop, watching me like everything else in my life felt watched lately.
I didn’t ring the bell.
I knocked.
Hard.
The door opened to my mother first. She looked startled, then relieved, then wary in the span of about half a second. Like she’d been waiting for this and dreading it at the same time.
“Noah,” she said softly. “You should have called.”
