I haven’t asked him what his dad said, only if he contacted him. A simple nod was really all I needed to know.

If I close my eyes and think too much about it, I’ll step outside and call Jared and let him have it. So I don’t. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change Jared’s behavior, nor would it help Ethan. And that’s all I really want to do.

My chest burns as I watch my little boy war with the emotions building inside him.

“Did you know Dad left?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard, even though I know it’s what he’s thinking. It’s the clarity, the boiled-down, cut-through-the-shit inquiry that knocks me back a couple of steps.

“Yes,” I say.

“Why didn’t you tell me today? Why did you send me to Val’s and not tell me that my dad moved to Cleveland?”

His gaze pierces mine. It’s guarded, with a look of pain mixed with fury, and it breaks my heart to see it so obvious in his sweet green eyes.

My mouth goes dry as I try to formulate the correct response. How do I be honest and protect Ethan at the same time?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“I found out just before I picked you up from school,” I say. “He called me late this afternoon.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, Ethan, I didn’t know how. I don’t want to tell you one thing and then be wrong about it. How many times has that happened? How many times has your father told me, told us, one thing and then turned around and did something else?”

The anger in his eyes softens.

“I figured that if he really did go, then fine. What did it matter?” I ask. “He’ll be back. He always comes back, and he’ll probably return before it was time for him to see you again anyway. Why risk upsetting you if there’s a chance that he shows up here tomorrow?”

His gaze drops to the hardwood floor.

“Look, buddy, I was going to tell you. I promise. I just . . . It’s hard sometimes to know how to handle your dad, and I don’t want you having to figure it out. I want to do the hard stuff and let you just enjoy being a kid.”

His eyes lift to mine. “I told you the other day that I’m not a kid. I understand way more than you think I do.”

“I know—”

“And it felt really bad to have to hear it from Dad when you already knew.”

My chest squeezes. “Ethan, I’m sorry.”

He hangs his head and walks toward the steps but stops. Then he raises his chin and looks at me with the clearest, most vulnerable look that I’ve ever seen him serve.