He started to stand.
“No.”
He stopped.
I wasn’t ready to watch my son walk through my front door again.
Not after discovering he’d already been walking away from me for twenty-five years without either of us knowing it.
I pulled out the chair beside mine.
“Not yet.”
Ethan slowly sat down.
I left my hand resting on the back of his chair.
Dorothy and I had things to work through.
Her mother’s lie had stolen years from both of us.
Dorothy’s silence had extended that loss.
And taking Nancy to meet Ethan before telling me had created a wound we couldn’t pretend wasn’t there.
But those were problems between my wife and me.
I refused to let them become Ethan’s burden.
I looked at the stranger who wasn’t a stranger anymore.
My son.
I didn’t know his favorite food.
I didn’t know what music he listened to.
I didn’t know what he’d wanted to be when he was nine.
I didn’t even know what made him laugh.
But for the first time, I had the chance to find out.
“Stay awhile,” I said.
Ethan looked at me.
“Tell me about yourself.”
