Ethan picked up his son.
"Go."
Margaret did.
That night, Noah asked:
"Did Grandma hit me because she loves me?"
Ethan's heart nearly stopped.
They were sitting on the bed.
He looked at his son.
"Did she say that?"
Noah nodded.
"When she slapped my hand."
Ethan closed his eyes.
"She said sometimes grown-ups hurt kids because they love them and want them good."
Ethan felt rage.
Then remembered the therapist.
Don't make the child responsible for adult emotions.
He took a breath.
"Noah."
The boy looked at him.
"People who love you can make mistakes."
"Okay."
"But hurting you is not how love is supposed to work."
Noah frowned.
"So Grandma doesn't love me?"
"No."
Ethan shook his head.
"I think Grandma loves you."
"But she hurt me."
"Yes."
Noah looked confused.
Adults were complicated.
Children wanted clear categories.
Good.
Bad.
Love.
No love.
Ethan chose honesty.
"Sometimes people love someone and still do something wrong."
"Then what?"
"Then they have to stop."
Noah thought.
"What if they don't?"
Ethan swallowed.
"Then we stay away until they do."
That became the rule.
Margaret did not see Noah for three months.
During that time, Ethan discovered more.
Nothing that rose to extreme physical abuse.
But enough.
She had washed Noah's mouth with soap once after he said "stupid."
She made him finish meals even after he vomited.
She locked toys in the garage for days if he left them out.
She threatened to throw away Rachel's photographs when Noah refused to stop crying.
That one nearly made Ethan lose control.
"She said what?"
Maria sat beside Noah during a therapy session.
Noah held a toy car.
"She said Mommy can't see me when I cry."
Ethan stared at the wall.
Maria intervened gently.
"And how did that make you feel?"
Noah whispered:
"Bad."
"Did you believe her?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know where Mommy is."
Ethan turned away because tears filled his eyes.
Later, outside, he called Kayla.
"Did you know about the pictures?"
No.
Kayla sounded horrified.
Ethan believed her.
He then called Margaret.
First call in weeks.
She answered instantly.
"Ethan."
"Did you threaten to throw away Rachel's pictures?"
Silence.
"Ethan—"
"Yes or no?"
"He was having a tantrum."
"Yes or no?"
Margaret sighed.
"I said if looking at them made him upset, maybe we should put them away."
"He said you told him you'd throw them in the garbage."
"I was frustrated."
Ethan hung up.
Margaret called back.
He blocked her again.
That evening, Ethan drove to Rachel's grave with Noah.
The boy brought a dandelion.
They sat on the grass.
Noah touched the stone.
"Mommy can't see me?"
Ethan swallowed.
"I don't know."
He refused to lie.
Rachel had believed in God more than he did.
Ethan had never been certain.
"But I know she loved you."
"Still?"
"Love doesn't stop because somebody dies."
Noah looked at him.
"How do you know?"
Ethan stared at Rachel's name.
"Because I still love her."
Noah placed the flower down.
"I love her too."
They sat.
Then Noah asked:
"Does Mommy get mad when I spill?"