The years passed. By the time he started elementary school in Bellmere, I had learned how to carry the grief without letting it consume every part of my life.
Then Noah started mentioning a boy named Lucas Hayes. One afternoon, he came through the front door and dropped his backpack onto the floor.
“Lucas called me his brother again!” I tried to laugh it off. “Maybe he’s just teasing you, sweetheart.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “He keeps saying we have the same dad but different moms.
It’s weird.” For one second, something tightened in my stomach. Then I dismissed it.
Children say strange things. It didn’t have to mean anything. A week later, the school called.
“Noah has been in another f. i. g. h. t with Lucas,” the administrator said.
“This one was serious. We need you to come in.” I drove over immediately.
I was already rehearsing an apology in my head. The moment I entered the office, I went straight to Noah.
“Baby, are you okay?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted one hand…
