“I can’t even believe she is showing her face after all this time.” She slams something. “After everything that you’ve been through.”

“Mom,” I say, “it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. She broke your heart and didn’t even give you a chance to explain.”

“I mean, I did get another woman pregnant,” I say. I hate having to defend Kallie; that stopped being my job when she stormed out of town without looking back.

“Well.” My mother’s voice goes soft. “You made one mistake. You had no choice but to be there for Savannah. She was having your child.”

I take another pull, this time making my stomach burn.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine when she leaves town again,” she hisses. “I have to go. I’m in the middle of baking.”

“Oh, fuck,” I say. She always does this when she gets nervous or she is angry about something or she is heartbroken. When Kallie left town, she baked every day for a week. When her friendship with Charlotte, Kallie’s mom, ended, she baked twice a day. When my father died, she baked three times a day. We had to buy her another freezer so she could fill it. “Mom, I swear it’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” she says. “Bring Ethan over here tomorrow after school. He loves to bake with me.”

“Will do, Mom,” I say and disconnect. I get Ethan into bed and sit by his bed while he says his prayers, and then I read him a goodnight story. I know that it’s going to end soon, so I’m taking full advantage of it.

I kiss his head and walk out of the room, closing the door a bit, and then walk through the quiet house. A house my parents bought for me as soon as the shock of me becoming a father set in. I, of course, refused, and they insisted even more. “It’s for our grandson.”

I make sure that the dim light over the stove is on and go into my room to my private shower. I hang my head and let the hot water cascade around me, my mind going back to the past.

I opened the front door, my heart crushed and my body in pain as I thought about the fact that what was supposed to be the best night of our lives was now the worst. My father was sitting on the couch with his arm around my mother as she cried into a tissue in her hand. She’d obviously already got the news. The phone started ringing again, and they both ignored it.

“You have to tell me it’s a lie,” my mother sobbed. “It can’t be true.”

My father’s eyes never left mine, and it was like he knew the truth.