“I know.”
“Are you coming back?”
I looked into his eyes—those nine-year-old eyes full of confusion and innocence.
“I don’t know, Michael. But what I do know is that I love you and that none of this is your fault. Do you understand?”
He nodded, wiping his tears with the cuff of his sweater.
We spent two hours together.
We ate cookies.
I read him a story.
We played dominoes like we used to.
When Daniel came to pick him up, my son’s face was devastated.
“Did you listen to it?” I asked from the doorway.
He nodded without speaking.
“All of it?”
He nodded again.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t sleep well that night, because I knew the next day would define everything.
Because tomorrow in that notary’s office, it wouldn’t just be the fate of a house that would be decided.
