Connor watched them leave.
“Dad, come on.”
His father ignored him.
Instead, he looked at me.
“I’m very sorry.”
His voice had changed.
There was no anger in it now.
Only embarrassment.
“I don’t expect that apology to fix what he did.”
“It doesn’t,” I admitted.
“I know.”
He looked down at the puddle of milk on the floor.
Then back at Mason.
“Is your baby okay?”
“I think so. He’s scared.”
The man nodded.
“I understand.”
Connor scoffed quietly.
His father heard him.
He turned.
“Give me your phone.”
Connor froze.
“What?”
“Your phone.”
“No.”
The man’s expression didn’t change.
“Give it to me.”
Connor pulled the phone from his pocket and slapped it into his father’s hand.
His father took it.
“You’re grounded.”
Connor laughed once.
It sounded nervous.
“For this?”
“Yeah, for this.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
Connor’s face reddened.
“It was milk.”
