me.

“No. This is about Emma.”

“No, it isn’t. Because if it were about Emma, you wouldn’t replace a reliable, authorized adult with someone we already agreed couldn’t manage regular pickup. You wouldn’t question Emma until she felt like she was lying.”

Ryan’s face fell. He sank into a kitchen chair as if his legs had stopped working.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Then he said quietly, “I hate hearing her talk about him.”

I waited.

“I get home late. She’s already eaten half the time. She tells me Travis showed her something, Travis taught her something, Travis said something funny.” He swallowed. “I feel like I’m missing everything.”

His voice cracked. “And he’s just… there.”

My anger faded, but the hurt remained.

Travis shifted beside the doorway.

“She talks about you the whole walk,” he said. “What you taught her. What you packed in her lunch. Last Thursday,