“This way,” I say and lead her from the mud room through the white kitchen toward the family room. It’s the room where we spend all our time. Her eyes roam around the room toward the back wall that holds the fireplace and the television on top of it, but her eyes pause on the framed pictures on the built-in shelves. Ethan’s first day at school. His first Christmas. Pictures of us fishing together. The pictures are all there, but one thing is clear. This is where I live with my son.

“I’m here,” she says, trying not to make eye contact with me. “What do you have to say?” I take a deep breath, and for the first time, I tell her my side of the story.

Chapter Eighteen

Kallie

I fell asleep with his kiss on my lips and my heart heavier than it’s ever been before. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to be there with me when I got up.

His eyes shine as he watched me, asking him to give him a chance to tell his side of the story. It was too little, too late, my brain screamed while my heart said to give him this one chance. I got in his truck with my mother’s words lingering in my mind. “He isn’t the only one keeping secrets, Kallie.”

No, he wasn’t, and before this day was over, he would know my secret. He would know it all. I looked out the window, watching the trees pass us by without saying a word, not realizing we were going so far out of the way until we pulled up to a white house with wooden slates around the big windows. We pull into the garage, and I know we are at his house. His house where he lives with his child and God knows who else. I don’t want to get out, but we need to have this talk. I follow him to the mud room, and I try not to look around and invade his privacy. We walk past the white kitchen on one side and a dining room table on the other with eight chairs. A schoolbag sits in the middle of the table with some papers stacked on top.

We walk into the family room, and my eyes go to the pictures on the shelves. Pictures of his life with his son. I try to calm my heart as I feel a panic attack coming on. In and out, I tell myself.

“I’m here,” I say to him, not looking at him. “What do you have to say?” He takes a deep breath, and I look at him.