“Mom?”
I shut the laptop partway and went to him.
“I’m here.”
He opened his eyes. “Are we going back?”
The question was quiet. That made it worse.
“Not tonight.”
“Grandpa said never.”
I sat beside him. He was warm under the comforter now, but his small hand closed around mine just as tightly as it had in the driveway.
“Grandpa was wrong to say that.”
Leo studied my face.
“Was the juice very bad?”
“No.”
“It went on the shoes.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know that too.”
He blinked hard. “Grandma said I was a mistake.”
There was no sentence I could give him that would remove the sound of it. I could only tell the truth he deserved.
“You are not a mistake, Leo. You never were.”
He moved closer until his forehead rested against my arm.
Outside our window, the Manhattan street shone under new snow. A delivery truck passed slowly. Somewhere below us, people were still finding their way home from Thanksgiving dinner.
Leo’s breathing settled again, but I stayed until his grip loosened.
When I reopened the laptop, David was standing alone on the porch. The deputies were beside their vehicles. Inside, my family had moved out of camera range.
He called me.
“The notice is served,” he said. “I documented the incident. The deputies took statements.”
“What happens next?”
“Your parents can respond. Any termination has to follow the legal process.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to decide tonight whether to pursue it.”
I looked at Leo. His coat had slipped from the bed onto the carpet.
“Yes,” I said. “I do have to decide something tonight.”
David waited.
“They can’t ask him back just because they know who owns the house.”
“No.”
“And I can’t make them love him.”
“No.”
“Then I want a little distance. In writing.”
