“She’s your mother, Liv.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
He reached across the center console and took my hand.
“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose between us.”
I leaned against his shoulder.
“You deserve better.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I already have you.”
I wanted to believe that was enough.
But I noticed a change after that Christmas.
Ethan began taking extra shifts.
He worked Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays whenever the garage needed help. Sometimes he came home after ten, smelling of oil and cold coffee. Other nights, he sat at the kitchen table long after I’d gone to bed, studying business documents and calculating expenses.
When I asked whether something was wrong, he told me he was saving.
“For what?”
“You’ll see.”
I assumed he meant a better car or a larger apartment.
I didn’t understand that he had begun thinking about something much bigger.
