Chapter 4

Noah came down the stairs, the wheels of his suitcase bumping against each step.

He stopped beside Daniel.

"Why did you pack a suitcase?"

Noah glanced at his father.

Daniel put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to decide who you're living with tonight. Your mom and I haven't even talked about that yet. We can take some time—"

"I already decided."

Noah cut him off.

Daniel looked surprised.

I said nothing.

Fifteen years ago, the first time I held Noah, he'd weighed barely more than six pounds. When the nurse placed him in my arms, I'd been too afraid to move because I thought the slightest wrong motion might hurt him.

Now he was taller than I was.

And he was standing a few feet away from me, choosing his father.

"You want to live with Dad?"

"Yeah."

No hesitation.

I studied his face for a moment before asking, "Are you sure?"

Noah tightened his grip on the suitcase handle. For the first time, he looked uncomfortable, but his answer didn't change.

"Dad's the one who's always been there. He picks me up from school, takes me to practice, comes to my games. He knows who my friends are and what's going on at school. You know most of the time, it's him."

I didn't argue.

Because it was true.

Daniel had done more school pickups. He'd cooked more dinners. He'd sat in the stands at more games, where Noah could easily see him.

"What about me?"

I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth.

A mother shouldn't have to ask her own child that.

But Noah had already answered.

"You're always working."

There was no anger in his voice. He said it like a fact all three of us had accepted years ago.

"Even when you're home, you're answering emails or taking calls. Whenever you miss something, you buy me stuff. A camera, shoes, a computer, or you just send me money. I don't need all that stuff."

I looked down at the sneakers on his feet.

They were a limited-edition pair he'd mentioned once in the car two months ago. I'd had my assistant search stores in three different states before we finally found his size.

Noah had loved them.

He'd worn them to school the very next day.

Now he was telling me he didn't need them.

"At least Dad's always there for me."

I thought that was the end of it.

Then Noah added, "Claire is too."

Daniel frowned immediately. "Noah."

"I'm just telling the truth."

For the first time, Noah looked me straight in the eye. His fifteen-year-old face held a mixture of hurt and stubbornness, along with the unconscious certainty of someone who had always been protected well enough to take that protection for granted.

"She knows what I like. She listens to me. And she doesn't act like money can fix everything."

He swallowed.

"If you'd given me a little less money and loved me a little more, maybe we wouldn't have ended up like this."

I didn't say anything.

Neither did Daniel.

Maybe even he knew Noah had gone too far.

But he didn't ask him to take it back.

I thought about the night Noah had spiked a fever when he was twelve and I'd found a pediatric specialist at two in the morning.

I thought about the three nights I'd spent comparing photography programs when he'd first shown an interest in it.

I thought about sitting in the Chicago airport that afternoon, refreshing the departure time over and over because I was terrified I'd miss his game.

None of it mattered now.

Because Noah had just told me what he remembered.

Four missed games.

A few dinners I hadn't made it home for.

And all the gifts he'd decided were nothing more than money I'd used to make up for being absent.

I nodded slowly.

"Okay."

Noah looked surprised.

Maybe he'd expected me to cry, get angry, demand that he stay, or pull rank as his mother and tell him he didn't get to choose.

I did none of those things.

I looked at Daniel instead.

"Where are you going tonight?"

"A hotel for now. I've been looking at houses for a while."

He continued, "There are a few three-bedroom places near Claire's neighborhood. They're close to the school. I've saved a lot over the years, so I can afford the down payment and handle the mortgage myself."

That was when I realized he'd already figured out where he wanted to live.

At some point long before tonight, Daniel had started looking at houses near Claire.

"I don't need you to support me," he said. "I know you've covered most of the major expenses over the years, but I have a job. I've always had my own income. Noah and I aren't going to fall apart just because we leave this house."

"I never said you would."

Daniel stopped.

I looked at him, suddenly exhausted.

"Let the lawyers deal with the house. We'll handle Noah's tuition, medical expenses, and everything else according to whatever agreement we reach. You don't have to prove to me tonight that you can live without me."

Something tightened in Daniel's expression.

But he didn't answer.

He went upstairs to get his things.

Twenty minutes later, he came back down carrying two suitcases.

Of course seventeen years of marriage couldn't fit into two bags. Daniel had only packed clothes, his laptop, toiletries, and a few books. The rest was still upstairs. His suits still hung beside mine in the closet. His files were still in the study. Even the coffee mug he'd used that morning was still sitting in the kitchen.

But once someone had decided to leave, it didn't matter how much of him was left behind.

Noah put on his jacket.

As he passed me, I stopped him.

"Noah."

He turned.

I didn't ask if he would regret this.

I didn't demand that he come home a certain number of days every week.

"If you want to live with Dad, then live with Dad."

He looked surprised.

"But remember one thing. No matter what you said tonight, and no matter where you live from now on, this is still your home."

I held his gaze.

"My door will always be open to you."

Noah's lips parted.

For a second, I thought he might say something else.

Instead, he only said, "Okay."

Daniel opened the front door, and cold night air swept into the entryway.

Noah rolled his suitcase outside first. Daniel paused at the door and looked back at me as though he wanted to say something.

In the end, he didn't.

The door closed.

Through the living room window, I watched Daniel load the suitcases into the trunk while Noah climbed into the passenger seat. The headlights came on, and a few seconds later, the car disappeared down the street.

My husband was gone.

So was my son.

They had both chosen a life they believed would go on just fine without me.

The house became painfully quiet.

Noah's water glass from breakfast was still on the table. The blanket Daniel had tossed over the couch the night before was still there.

I stood there for a few seconds before reaching for my phone on instinct, already organizing tomorrow's problems in my head—the lawyers, the school, Noah's schedule, Daniel's father's appointment next week.

Then my phone rang.

Daniel's mother.

I stared at her name for two seconds before answering.

"Mom?"

Her voice came through in a rush.

"Ev, thank God you picked up. Dad's insurance denied his treatment again. The hospital just called, and I don't understand half of what they're telling me."

She paused.

Then, as naturally as she had countless times before, she asked:

"Can you take care of it for us?"