And suddenly, I understood.
He had hidden something he valued by pretending he hated it.
And I understood something about myself too.
For years, Brad had quietly asked me not to look closely.
I had mistaken looking away for kindness.
I wasn’t going to force him into the open.
But I also didn’t need to help him hide anymore.
Later that evening, Molly dumped a pile of crayons across the kitchen table.
“Daddy, draw me a horse.”
Brad immediately shook his head.
“Mom draws better.”
“I asked you.”
He looked toward me.
I continued drinking my coffee.
Brad sighed and picked up the brown crayon.
Five minutes later, Molly studied the drawing.
“That’s a dog.”
“It is absolutely a horse.”
“Dogs have ears like that.”
“You have no respect for art, peanut.”
Brad reached toward the paper.
I recognized the movement instantly.
Crumple.
Trash.
Gone.
But his fingers stopped before touching it.
