For one terrible second, I think he was asking me to choose.
I should have stood up.
I should have walked out with my son.
Instead, I sat frozen.
Eli left the dining room.
Ran upstairs.
A few minutes later, the front door closed.
I assumed he needed space.
I had no idea it would be the last time I saw him for six years.
The Note
Our guests left one by one.
I cleaned dishes I could barely remember serving.
Grant sat in the living room watching television as though nothing had happened.
“Are you going to apologize?”
He did not look away from the screen.
“For telling the truth?”
“You humiliated him.”
“He embarrassed himself.”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s eighteen.”
Grant shrugged.
“Maybe it’s time everyone stopped treating him like a child.”
I went upstairs.
Eli’s bedroom door was open.
The room was empty.
