I thought of every time over the years I had answered that same ache in him with logic instead of tenderness — the children are independent, the children are thriving, that’s exactly what we raised them to become. All of it true. I simply hadn’t understood that a person could be genuinely proud of raising two capable, independent adults and still quietly grieve the version of himself that used to be indispensable at two in the morning.
Still, some things needed saying. “This doesn’t excuse lying to me for three weeks, Greg.”
He managed a small, sheepish grin. “You let me think you believed the back excuse.”
“I didn’t want you thinking I’d lost my mind, imagining things,” I muttered.
“I thought you were hiding something terrible,” I said, more seriously now. “An affair. A gambling debt. I didn’t know what.”
He winced. “That’s fair. I should have told you the day I started.”
