Then he looked at Ethan.

“And he’s yours.”

The manager nodded.

She had heard enough.

“I can offer you a refund or tickets for another showing,” she told the family. “But I need you to leave tonight.”

The mother protested.

The father complained.

But eventually they gathered their belongings.

As they stood, the father took Ethan by the arm and hurried him out.

The boy looked back.

Not at me.

At Owen.

For only a second.

But I saw his face.

He wasn’t angry anymore.

He looked frightened.

And Owen saw it too.

The family left.

Tamika apologized.

The older couple behind us thanked Owen.

He sat down again.

His hands rested on the armrests.

But he wasn’t watching the movie.

His thumb moved rapidly against his finger.

“Owen?”

He stared toward the exit.

“Did you see how his dad grabbed him?”

“Yes.”

Several seconds passed.

Then Owen stood.

“I’ll be back.”

This time, I followed.

We stepped into the bright lobby.

Before I saw the family, I heard the father’s voice.

“You embarrassed me in front of everybody.”

Near the box office, Ethan stood in front of his dad.

His mother was several feet away, speaking on her phone.

Ethan was crying.

“I’m sorry.”

His father still had hold of his arm.

“You never think.”

“Dad, that hurts.”

Several people nearby were watching.

Nobody intervened.

Owen stopped about fifteen feet away.

His face changed.

For a moment, I wasn’t looking at my thirty-eight-year-old husband anymore.

I was looking at the nine-year-old boy he had once been.

Then he stepped forward.

“Hey.”

The father turned.

“Oh, come on. What do you want now?”

Owen remained calm.

“Please let go of his arm.”

The father laughed.

“This is my son.”

“I know.”

“Then stay out of it.”