The room went silent except for the low hum of the laptop. Ethan looked at the screen, then at the floor, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely there.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
My anger shifted, not disappearing, only changing shape into something colder. “Tell me what?”
He sank back into the chair as if his legs had given out. For a few seconds, he covered his face with both hands, and when he lowered them, his eyes were wet.
“That boy,” he said slowly, “his name is Caleb.”
I looked at the photo again, though I already knew something terrible was coming. “Who is he?”
Ethan swallowed. “He’s my son.”
The words struck the room like a dropped glass. For a moment, I heard nothing, not the laptop, not Ethan’s breathing, not even my own heartbeat.
“No,” I whispered, because it was the only word my mind could find. “No, Ethan.”
“I didn’t know,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I swear to God, Anna, I didn’t know about him until a couple of months ago.”
