I believed him completely. From that day forward, I gave Milo every bit of love I had.
Years went by. I slowly learned how to carry that grief without it swallowing me whole.
Then Milo started talking about a boy named Silas. “Silas called me his brother again!”
he yelled one afternoon, storming inside. “Maybe he’s just messing with you,” I laughed.
“He keeps saying we have the same dad but different moms. It’s so weird.”
Something twisted low and sharp in my stomach. A week later, the school called.
“Another fight with Silas. This one’s serious. You need to come in.” I rushed over, already rehearsing an apology for my son’s temper.
