The kitchen light buzzed overhead while I folded the last of Ethan’s t-shirts on the counter.
Mark had left when Ethan was ten.
One month later, he was living with Vanessa, a coworker from his office.
“Sorry, babe. Cupid’s arrow,” he had told me at the door, like that explained anything at all.
I picked up two jobs that same week.
I packed lunches at midnight.
Mark had left when Ethan was ten.
I sat alone at every science fair, every band concert, every parent-teacher meeting where the chair beside me stayed empty.
I never complained where Ethan could hear me.
He had enough to carry.
What I could not stop was Vanessa.
Every weekend he came back from his father’s house with something new bruising him underneath.
I never complained where Ethan could hear me.
“Mom,” he had said once. “Vanessa wants me to call her the real mom.”