ing his car keys from the hook by the door. He was already he

out the police report?"

misunderstanding. The drunk is gone. It's over." He turned to our son. "Ethan, sta

He left me, the actual victim of a physical assault, standing in the middle of the living room with ou

nto the sofa and picked up his phone, his

d to the phone. "Now Sarah's sick because of you.

id you see what happened out there? A man a

e. "You shouldn't have come here at night.

y, a new, solid unit that I was no longer a part of. My

m his phone, his expression mirroring his father's coldness. "

o much like Mark's, and for the first time, I felt a deep, chilling sense of failure. I had doted on him, perhaps spoiled him, but I had always tried to teach him kindness and empathy. But Mark's influence, his

as still holding on, the part that was willing to endure humiliation for a shred of a connection to my son, simply let

a pen, and signed the divorce papers with a stea

to the police," I said, my voice calm a

s eyes. "Dad sa

hat," I replied. I held out my hand.

, and pointed out the patch of trampled grass where it happened. Through it all, Ethan stayed inside, occasionally looking out the window with an expres

I was about to turn and leave for good, it rang. He answered it

then held the phone out to m

it. "

for this. Before you leave, make sure you clean up that mess on the lawn. I don't

hat the police said. He was just ordering me

dead phone in my hand, and felt nothing but a col

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