I waited 10 years to hear my son tell me what happened on that fishing trip.
By the time he finally did, I had already imagined almost everything.
All I knew for certain was this:
My eight-year-old son left for a weekend at the lake with his father, excited beyond belief.
And he came back like someone had gone into him with a knife and left the wound where no one could see it.
Back then, my husband Daniel kept saying Ethan needed “real father-son bonding time.” He said it with that smug certainty he used whenever he wanted something badly enough to act like it was obviously best for everyone else, too.
At first, I liked the idea.