⸻
“I think some part of him always suspected there was more to the story than I’d given him,” Renata said. “Kids notice more than we give them credit for.”
⸻
I called Foster from the school parking lot, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone twice dialing.
⸻
“Naomi,” he said, his voice carefully neutral in a way that made my stomach turn considerably harder than his actual words did. “Is everything okay? Is Milo hurt?”
⸻
“Come home,” I said. “Right now. I know about Silas.”
⸻
There was a long silence on the line.
⸻
“I can explain,” he finally said.
⸻
“You’ve had eight years to explain,” I said. “You’re going to do it today, in person, with Renata and both boys sitting in the same room. I want every single detail, and I want it before I decide what happens to this marriage.”
⸻
Foster arrived at the house an hour later, his face gray in a way I’d genuinely never seen before, not even during the worst days of my recovery eight years earlier.
