“I’ll never forgive either of you,” he said.
Then he looked at me.
“And you, Mom—you let him do this.”
His words hurt because they were true.
I stepped between them and begged Ethan to wait while I spoke to his father. But Ethan had heard me make promises before. He knew I would plead, Richard would refuse, and eventually I would become silent again.
“There’s nothing left to discuss,” he said.
He went upstairs, changed his clothes, and returned with the duffel bag over his shoulder. When I reached for his sleeve, he pulled away.
The front door closed quietly behind him.
“Bring him back,” I demanded. “Where is he supposed to go?”
“He’ll figure it out,” Richard replied, pouring himself more coffee. “That’s the point.”
For the first week, I called Ethan every day. During the second week, I told myself he needed space, but I continued calling.
