“My solution to the problem would’ve been not to get into the situation in the first place,” I say with all the calmness I can muster.

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

“So is foresight. If you don’t pay your rent, they’re going to evict you. And you know as well as I do that the landlord’s wife pocketed whatever cash you paid toward your rent. You were fooling yourself to think that was going to go over because this nearly happened six months ago, and you didn’t learn your lesson!”

“You love it when I have to learn a lesson, don’t you?”

“No. I don’t, actually,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “I don’t even care. I only care about Ethan, and right now I’m trying to figure out what this looks like for him.”

Our son’s name hangs in the air.

“I’m worried about him too,” Jared says, his voice dripping with anger. “That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I’m going to Cleveland and—”

“No. It’s not.”

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t let him walk out of Ethan’s life, again—because that’s what this is—and pretend like everything is fine and Jared is some kind of father of the year.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he asks.

“Let’s be honest here since we’re fighting anyway. You’re going to Cleveland because it’s the easiest decision for you and seems the most fun. It has nothing to do with Ethan or what’s best for him because you don’t even factor him in your life when you live here.”

The line goes eerily silent. I’m sure Jared is shocked that I’ve broached this topic because it’s one I usually avoid to keep the peace. But my filter has broken. This man has hurt my son over and over, and I can’t be silent anymore.

This is so fucking unfair for Ethan. Again.

I pull the phone away from my face so I can catch my breath without breathing into the line. My heart pounds, and my mind races through a million scenarios about how this will end up.

“I’m sorry that I’m not parenting to your standards,” he says.

“See? That doesn’t make sense because I don’t hold you to any standards. Clearly. I let you do what you do and try to be happy that you can fit him into one weekend a month, at best. I mean, I do think it’s fucked up that you don’t prioritize your one child into your life, but that’s on you. Not me.”

“I signed him up for baseball, didn’t I? Isn’t that what dads do?”

“No. Dads play baseball with their kids. They play catch. They—”

“I bought him a fucking glove. Do you know how much that fucking thing costs?”