“Perhaps he did. I can’t tell you what he said to her. I can only tell you what was happening in our home.”
I turned toward him.
“Rebecca came to speak with me once. She brought you along.”
His expression changed.
“I remember.”
“You do?”
“I remember standing outside while you argued.”
I remembered that afternoon vividly.
Tyler had been about eight.
He’d held a toy car while Rebecca insisted that my husband had promised to leave me.
At one point, Tyler asked whether Emma could come outside to play.
I’d told him she wasn’t home.
She was staying with my sister, safely away from the argument.
“You were a child,” I told him. “None of that was your fault.”
He looked surprised.
“Then why did you tell Emma to break up with me?”
I glanced at my daughter.
“Because I panicked. Seeing you brought back something painful, and I reacted before thinking.”
