“Yes.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Is Dad screaming at people?”
I closed my eyes.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Because he texted me fifteen minutes ago asking if I was at school and then deleted it. Also Lily says one of her friends sent her a video from some gossip account with your name on it, but I took her phone.”
A pulse of gratitude and sorrow moved through me together. Childhood should not require evidence management.
“I’m handling it,” I said.
“You mean he did something.”
I sat on the bench and wrapped the towel tighter around myself. “He did several things.”
Noah inhaled, steadying. “Is it divorce things?”
Children are mercilessly direct when they are afraid.
“Yes,” I said.
Silence. Then: “Okay.”
“You don’t have to be okay.”
“I know.” He sounded older than sixteen. “Do we come home to you tonight or stay at school or what?”
Practical. Protective. My chest hurt all over again.
“Come home. I’ll be there before dinner. I’ll talk to you both then.”
“Did he cheat?” Noah asked.
The question landed flat between us, stripped of melodrama by the simple need for facts.
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he said softly. Then, after a beat, “That’s really stupid of him.”
I laughed despite myself. One short, cracked laugh. “Correct.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.”
