Grandma did not say:
Your father is lying.
She said:
I don’t know.
To a frightened child, that meant maybe.
Noah whispered:
“Is Grandma in trouble?”
I took a breath.
“Yes.”
His face fell.
“But that is adult stuff.”
“Is Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Because he took me?”
“Yes.”
“He said you would have gotten him arrested anyway.”
“Noah.”
I took his hands.
“Adults sometimes tell children stories that make their choices seem necessary.”
He stared at me.
“Your dad loves you.”
That was important.
I would not erase love just because Evan had abused it.
“But loving you did not give him the right to lie to you or hide you from me.”
Noah cried.
“I wanted to come home.”
“I know.”
“He kept saying just a few more days.”
I hugged him.
“I know.”
Recovery was not a movie.
Noah did not come home and immediately return to normal.
For weeks, he slept with the hallway light on.
