He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It got to the point that I didn’t want to get another job, because it would take me away from you. I saw how the time apart from your mother affected your relationship. As soon as I’d start working again, I’d see you much less, and, well, that wasn’t going to be enough.

“Things got tense between Paula and me. She thought I was poisoning you against her. So she decided she wanted to put you in day care instead of letting me take care of you. The day that was supposed to be my last weekday with you, I took you to Busch Gardens. You ran around all day. You got to feed a flamingo and see a giraffe. When we got into the car, you were so happy, holding the stuffed giraffe I bought you.”

My stomach plunges as if the floor has crumbled underneath me. I still have that giraffe—I named her Ginger. There’s a relic of the pivotal day of my past sitting in my closet, and I had no idea.

“You asked where we were going once I started up the car, and when I told you that I was taking you home, you asked which home. When I said your mother’s, you started crying uncontrollably. I had to pull over to comfort you. So I told you we were just going for a drive. I missed the exit to your mother’s and kept driving. I was an hour late. Then two hours. I got you some ice cream and saw the missed calls and messages from Paula. At first, she was worried we’d gotten into an accident. Then the messages became accusatory. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to keep you with me. I didn’t want you at some strange place the next day, surrounded by people you didn’t know. I’m your father; I should take care of you. I wanted to keep you with me. So two hours turned into three. I couldn’t bear the thought of dropping you off and not seeing you again for nearly two weeks. You kept saying, ‘I want to stay with you, Daddy.’ It broke my heart. I couldn’t bring myself to take you home.”

He hangs his head while the realization of what he’s implying hits me.

“So you took me away from my mother because I threw a fit? All of this was because I was crying? Jesus Christ, Dad.” I can’t count the number of times that a kid I’m babysitting has had a breakdown when their parents start to leave. Do the parents stay at home? No. They leave, and the kid eventually gets over it because they’re kids. Kids bounce back way better than adults. Clearly. “I was a toddler.”