Tyler was different.
He was quieter than usual. Careful with every word. Every time I tried to read his expression, he looked away.
Then he walked toward me.
Not toward his father.
Toward me.
He wrapped his arms around me and held on tighter than I expected. I could feel how hard he was trying to stay steady, and I knew he could feel my hands shaking.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” he whispered.
I tried to smile.
“I’m trying.”
His arms tightened.
“Just wait for me.”
Those words stayed with me because they did not sound like goodbye. They sounded like a message I was supposed to understand later.
I wanted to ask him what he meant. I wanted to stop everything and demand answers. I wanted one more chance to understand why he had chosen the person standing several feet away from us.
But Harrison was watching.
Tyler knew it.
