I didn’t chase him. I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg for explanations I’d already lived through.
I buckled Noah into his seat and drove home as the sky softened into morning. He slept the whole way, trusting me to carry what he couldn’t understand yet.
That night, I tucked him into bed and brushed my fingers through his hair. He smiled in his sleep.
Travis never apologized. He never explained himself to Noah. Some men don’t know how to face the damage they leave behind.
But I knew this:
My son would never wait alone on a bus stop again.
He would never wonder if he mattered.
He would never learn love from someone who disappears when things get hard.
Family isn’t the person who promises to show up.
It’s the one who always does.
And that was me.