“I don’t even care that he left, Mom. I mean, I do. It would be nice if he lived here and he remembered that he had a kid, but that’s not going to happen.”

My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him into my chest and cuddle him like I used to when he was a baby. But that reaction would be for me. I need to be here for him.

“I wish you would’ve told me so I’d know I can trust you,” he says.

He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t blink or smile or soften his words so they won’t puncture my heart. My twelve-year-old son just looks at me like the man he isn’t and makes me feel about two inches tall.

“You can trust me. You know that,” I say. “Don’t say things like that, Ethan.”

“It’s always been me and you. We haven’t needed anyone—not Dad or his mom or even Charlie.”

“That’s right.”

“So don’t let me find out crappy information from Dad when you already know it. It’s not fun to feel like there are secrets going around and I’m the only one that doesn’t know them.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. I was trying to protect you.”

His shoulders fall. “I know. But I’m not six years old anymore. I’m almost thirteen. I get stuff. I understand. I’m not in the other room watching cartoons and not thinking about things.”

“I don’t want you to have to be thinking about things, Ethan. I want you playing baseball and having fun with your friends. Going to Val’s and skateboarding with the kids in the parking lot, like you love to do. Did you do that today?”

He nods, giving me a small grin.

I sigh, the relief evident in my exhale. “Good.”

He starts down the steps. I give him a couple of seconds’ head start before I follow—both for him and for me.

The pictures of his life along the staircase hit a little harder than they usually do. I remember the way he smelled like baby lotion in the first picture and how, shortly after the fourth image was snapped, he choked on a strawberry. He wore the rain boots in the fifth picture for a solid six months, fighting me when he had to take them off for baths and bed.

“What did you do today?” Ethan asks.

“I had to work late.”

I watch the now preteen enter the living room below me and wonder how time can possibly move this fast.

He faces me with a quirked brow and a smug smile.

“What?” I ask.

“Looks like someone had a guest over while I was away.”