Officer Haines escorted Raymond out. Raymond kept his eyes on the floor.
Mark’s face twisted with rage, then he looked at Noah and forced it down.
When we got home, Mark was waiting in the driveway, pale and shaking.
“What happened?” he asked.
I told him the short version. The fence. The video. The man. The reason.
Mark’s face twisted with rage, then he looked at Noah and forced it down.
That night, after Noah fell asleep, I sat at the table with the no-contact paperwork. Mark stood behind my chair.
“I should’ve been the one,” he whispered. “Not Ethan.”
Two days later, I went to the cemetery alone.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I can’t stop thinking it,” he said.
“I can’t stop thinking anything,” I said. “But we have Noah. We don’t get to drown.”
Mark’s hands tightened on the chair back. “You did the right thing.”
“I know,” I said. “And I still feel sick.”
Two days later, I went to the cemetery alone.
I pressed my palm to the cold stone.
The air cut through my coat. I set daisies at Ethan’s stone and traced his name with my fingertip.
“Hi, baby,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.”
My eyes burned. I let them.
“I can’t forgive him,” I said. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
The silence didn’t feel haunted anymore. It felt solid.
“I’m done letting strangers speak for you,” I told Ethan. “No more secrets. No more borrowed words.”
I stood and breathed until my chest stopped shaking.
I pressed my palm to the cold stone.
“I’m going to keep Noah safe,” I said. “And I’m going to keep you clear.”
I stood and breathed until my chest stopped shaking.
It still hurt. It always would.
But it was the clean hurt of truth.
And I could carry it.
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