My father thanked him and placed it beside the sink.
Noah asked about it every time we visited until I eventually stopped bringing him into that kitchen.
None of those memories confirmed what Adam had just told me.
That somehow made it worse.
I could suddenly see how much effort I had spent explaining those differences away.
Ben wasn’t here to help me notice them, and I had been afraid that if I admitted my parents favored the other children, Noah would feel as though he had even fewer people who cared about him.
So I bought him presents at home, then brought him back into rooms where he was expected to accept receiving less.
The following morning, I found him sitting on the living-room floor, carefully opening a game case.
He looked up as though checking which version of his mother had awakened: the one who had agreed to everything at GameStop, or the one who might now regret it.
“You don’t have to return it,” I said.
He smiled with relief.
Then his smile disappeared.
“Are Grandpa and Grandma mad at us?”
“They might be upset with me.
That’s something the adults can work out.”
“I don’t want Lily and Parker to lose their presents.”
Lily and Parker were Brooke and Adam’s children.
Noah had walked past their gifts without touching anything, and he was still worried about what they might lose.
“They won’t,” I said.
“None of this is their fault.”
He nodded and returned to the game case.
I walked into the kitchen and called my father.
He answered immediately.
“Are you finally ready to talk reasonably?”
“Tell me why Noah receives less.”
“Because the boy has a trust fund,” he said.
“Your brother’s children don’t.
We thought it was fair to give them a little more while everyone was young.”
“You could have given them whatever you wanted.
You couldn’t allow Brooke to tell my son he mattered less.”
“Brooke’s words are Brooke’s responsibility.”
“You sat there while he heard them.”
“And you created a scene with those receipts.
