PART 6:

Even then, Ava’s hand hadn’t released its grip. It had taken 20 minutes to carefully extract herself, and another 10 to convince herself that Ava wouldn’t wake up the moment she left. The baby monitor, dusty from years of disuse, now sat on the nightstand, volume turned all the way up.

Mason had gone to his room without being asked, closing the door quietly behind him. When Natalie knocked 30 minutes later, he’d said he was fine in that tone that meant exactly the opposite. Through the door, she could hear him crying. Muffled sobs he was trying to hide in his pillow. Mason, honey, can I come in? I’m okay, Mom. You don’t have to be okay.

None of us have to be okay right now. Silence. Then the door lock clicked open. Natalie pushed inside to find her son sitting on his bed in pajamas, his glasses on the nightstand, his face blotchy and swollen. His room looked exactly as it always did. Star Wars posters, Lego sets on shelves, homework scattered across his desk.

Normal, but Mason looked shattered. “I should have been stronger,” he said immediately, the words tumbling out like he’d been holding them behind a dam. “I should have protected Clare and Ava. I’m the only boy. I should have stop. Natalie sat beside him and pulled him close. You’re 10 years old. You shouldn’t have to protect anyone from an adult.

That was never your job. But I’m weak. Dad said. He caught himself. Winced. Daniel said I cry too much. That I’ll never be a real man because I’m soft. Mason, look at me. She waited until his green eyes met hers. Crying doesn’t make you weak. Feeling things doesn’t make you soft. You know what takes real strength? Surviving what you survived.

Holding your sister’s hands when you were scared, too. That’s courage. That’s being a man in the ways that actually matter. He said you married him because I needed a father. Because I wasn’t enough on my own. Natalie felt her heart crack wider. Your father, your biological father, he had problems I couldn’t fix.

He left because of his issues, not because of anything you did or didn’t do. And I married Daniel because I thought he’d be good for all of us. I was wrong. But you, Mason, you have always been enough. More than enough. You’re smart and kind and funny. And I am so, so proud to be your mom.

Mason started crying again, and this time he didn’t try to hide it. Natalie held him the way she used to when he was small, rocking slightly, humming the lullaby her own mother had sung to her. Outside a car chur a car drove past. The house settled on its foundation with creeks that now sounded ominous instead of familiar. Will he come back? Mason asked eventually.

No, I won’t let him. What if you have to go to work? What if you’re in another city and he But I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time. Work can wait. You three can’t. Mason pulled back, studying her face like he was searching for lies. You always say work is important. You’re more important.

I should have shown you that before. I’m sorry I didn’t. They’d sat together until Mason’s breathing slowed and his body went heavy with sleep. Natalie had lowered him to the pillow, pulled the blanket up, and left the hall light on because Mason had asked, not in words, but in the way his eyes darted toward the darkness when she’d reached for the switch.

Now it was just Clare. Natalie found her oldest daughter in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the tub, still fully dressed. Her violin case lay open beside her, the instrument gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. Clare held the bow like a weapon, turning it over and over in her hands. Clare.

Her daughter didn’t look up. I broke a string today during practice. I told him it was an accident that the string was old, but he said I did it on purpose to waste his money to be difficult. Natalie lowered herself to the floor, ignoring her suit skirt wrinkling on bathroom tile.

It’s not his money and strings break. It happens. He made me stand in the corner for 2 hours before you came home. He said, “Wasteful children don’t deserve comfort.” Clare’s voice was flat, emotionless. The bow spun in her hands. I had to use the bathroom so bad I thought I’d have an accident, but I knew if I moved, he’d make it worse.

Oh, sweetheart. I’m 12 years old, Mom. I almost wet myself like a baby because I was too scared to move. Do you know how pathetic that is? That’s not pathetic. That’s terror. That’s what he did to you. Clare finally looked up and her eyes were ancient, too old, too knowing. Why didn’t you see it? The question hung between them, impossible to answer adequately.

Natalie had asked herself the same thing 17 times since this afternoon. Why hadn’t she noticed Clare’s increasing anxiety? The way Mason had started having stomach aches every Sunday night. how Ava had stopped drawing her family in art class. I don’t know, Natalie admitted. I was traveling too much, working too much. I thought Daniel was handling things.

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