I thought my husband was picking our son up from school every Thursday — but one day, my boy casually asked, “Mom, why didn’t my other mom pick me up today like she usually does?”

I don’t know why.

Everything inside me had gone completely still.

“Toby,” I said, as calmly as I could.

“What does she look like?

This other mom?”

He thought about it the way six-year-olds do, tilting his head to the ceiling.

“She has long brown hair,” he said.

“She always smells nice.

She calls me buddy.” He paused.

“She has a dog.

I like the dog.”

I put the key in my palm and closed my fingers around it.

“Does Daddy come inside when she picks you up?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged.

“They hug a lot.”

I didn’t say anything after that.

I just put the car back in drive.

When we got home, Ryan was in the kitchen making dinner like it was any other Thursday.

He smiled when we walked in.

“Hey!

You’re early.

Everything okay?”

I set the key on the counter between us without a word.

His smile didn’t disappear slowly.

It dropped.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Toby gave it to me,” I said.

“She told him to give it back to you.”

Ryan looked at Toby.

Then back at me.

He opened his mouth.

Then his phone buzzed on the counter.

We both looked down at the same time.