"I want nobody to be sad."
"That's not always possible."
"I know."
She pushed syrup around with her fork.
"Would Mom have to stop loving Dad if she loves you?"
Isaiah's chest tightened.
"I don't know."
"Can she love both?"
Isaiah stared at his daughter.
Children asked simple questions adults built entire tragedies around.
"I think people can love more than one person."
"Then why can't everybody stay?"
Isaiah smiled sadly.
"Because grown-ups make things complicated."
"That's stupid."
"Usually."
She ate another bite.
Then said, "Dad sleeps at Uncle Ben's now."
Isaiah looked up.
"Thomas moved out?"
Maya nodded.
"Mom says it's temporary."
Isaiah hadn't known.
"Are you okay?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
Isaiah felt guilty.
"Did he tell you he was leaving?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"He said he isn't disappearing."
Isaiah nodded.
Maya looked at him.
"You told him that?"
"Told him what?"
"Not to disappear."
Isaiah shook his head.
"No."
Maya looked confused.
Isaiah realized Thomas had understood on his own.
A week later, Lena asked Isaiah to come to the house.
He hesitated.
He had not entered since the first day.
But Maya had left a school binder there that she needed for their weekend.
Isaiah drove over.
The kitchen curtains were still blue.
He stood in the doorway.
Lena noticed.
"I can change them."
Isaiah shook his head.
"They're just curtains."
But both knew they weren't.
He stepped inside.
The house smelled familiar and unfamiliar at once.
Coffee.
Laundry detergent.
Vanilla candle.
His wedding photograph still hung in the hallway.
Isaiah stopped.
The picture showed him and Lena twelve years younger.
He looked at her.
"You kept it?"
Lena nodded.
"It's Maya's family too."
Farther down the hallway was another photograph.
Lena and Thomas on their wedding day.
Maya stood between them.
Isaiah stared at it.
Lena looked uncomfortable.
"I can—"
"No."
He swallowed.
"Don't hide things because I'm here."