My son was shaking in my coat.
The gifts I bought him were turning black in her fire pit.
A yard full of relatives had watched him be humiliated at his own birthday party.
And somehow I was the disturbance.
“I’m taking my son home,” I said.
Peter moved in then, slow and official, the way he did when he wanted everyone to remember he had money.
“Daniel, everyone knows you’ve been having problems. Kelly told us about the forgetfulness. The episodes. The way you’ve been acting.”
There it was.
The foundation they had been pouring under me for months.
At first, I had blamed work.
