Ethan felt something inside him collapse.
"Buddy."
Noah looked at him.
"You don't need permission from Grandma."
Margaret said sharply:
"Don't undermine me in front of him."
Ethan slowly turned.
"He's my son."
"And I've been parenting him for almost a year."
"You're his grandmother."
"I'm the person who's actually been here."
Silence.
The words landed exactly where Margaret meant them to.
Ethan felt guilt.
Because she was right about one thing.
He had not been there.
Every morning.
Every bedtime.
Every fever.
Every difficult day.
He had been gone.
And guilt made anger less simple.
Margaret saw that.
Her voice softened.
"I know this looks harsh."
Ethan said nothing.
"But you didn't see how he was when you left."
Noah looked at his plate.
Margaret continued.
"He screamed every night."
Ethan swallowed.
"He refused to sleep alone."
Noah's fingers tightened.
"He had accidents."
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
"He threw food."
Noah whispered:
"I was little."
The words almost destroyed him.
I was little.
Not I am little.
I was little.
Like he had already learned that being younger was something shameful.
Margaret continued.
"He needed structure."
Ethan looked at her.
"Structure isn't humiliation."
"I'm not humiliating him."
"You put him on the floor."
"It works."
"Does it?"
"Look at him."
Ethan did.
And that was exactly the problem.
Noah sat perfectly still.
Back straight.
Hands in his lap.
Eyes lowered.
Too still.
Not a four-year-old eating lunch.
A child trying desperately not to make another mistake.
Ethan turned toward Margaret.
"What else?"
She frowned.
"What?"
"What else do you do when he misbehaves?"
Margaret's expression changed.
Nothing dramatic.
A tiny hesitation.
Ethan noticed.
"What else?"
"Ethan."
Noah whispered:
"Corner."
Ethan looked at him.
"What corner?"
Margaret immediately said:
"Time-out."
Noah pointed toward the pantry.
Ethan walked over.
There was a small chair facing the wall.
Normal enough.
Then he noticed pencil marks scratched into the baseboard.
Lines.
Dozens.
No.
Not pencil.
Crayon.
Tiny marks.
He crouched.
Noah appeared beside him.
"Those are my days."
Ethan looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
"So I know how long."
Ethan's throat tightened.
"How long what?"
"Until I can get up."
Margaret sighed.
"He's exaggerating."
Ethan stood.
"How long do you make him sit there?"
"Four minutes."
Noah shook his head.
Margaret's eyes sharpened.
"Noah."
The boy flinched.
Ethan immediately stepped closer.
"Don't."
Margaret looked offended.
"Do not use that tone with me."