Dries slipped off his hat. “Would you not let me come in? We’ll have a drink. Talk about old times.”

Seconds ticked by, then the door opened to a gap.

I grabbed Dries’s arm. “Take food. And milk.”

I set Wil down and quickly handed the already prepared plate and glass to my brother, then I nudged him forward. “Go! Or the door might close again.”

It did, but only when Dries was on the inside, a prayer answered.

“Papa.” Wil picked his rubber ball off the floor and offered it to me, for his father.

“Your papa and your uncle are going to have a nice talk. Isn’t that lovely? Why don’t I cut up an apple for you, and we shall finish yesterday’s cheese? And then maybe a walk outside after that?”

I didn’t want my little son to worry. I didn’t want him scared. “You mustn’t remember your father like this.” I took him to the kitchen and washed our largest apple. “We’ll make new memories, good ones, when he recovers.”

Theo shouted, “You understand nothing!”

Then a heavy weight crashed against the bedroom door, as if the men were fighting each other. I dropped the apple back into the bowl, grabbed up Wil, and fled.

“Your father is a good man. He is such a lovely man. And he loves us very much. He—” I choked on raw fear, shaking on the front stoop. I had grabbed neither my shawl nor my hat. Nor had Wil any shoes on his small feet against the October chill.

I held him tightly against me. “All is well, my cherub. Papa and Dries are merely playing a game. All is well.”

I waited until I caught my breath, until my heart stopped racing so hard that it hurt inside my chest. Then I eased back inside our apartment.

Theo was yelling words I never could have imagined spoken by my dearest. They made my heart bleed.

“He doesn’t mean it!” I called to Dries, on the point of fleeing again, because I didn’t want my son to hear his father’s rant. “Could you not make him take his potion? It’s in a small green bottle.”

Then more tussling inside, muffled words from both Dries and Theo that I could not catch.

“Appe,” Wil babbled, squirming to the floor.

“Yes, an apple. I did promise that.”

I cut the fruit into quarters with unsteady hands and handed him the smallest one, the one his baby fingers could best grab.

“Cheechee!” He pointed and scrambled onto the chair all by himself.

“And cheese too.” I set the plate on the table, everything inside me straining to hear what the men in the bedroom were saying to each other.