job three states away. Within a week, he was gone.
When I went back inside, Richard was sitting on the stairs.
“What happened?”
He stared at the broken photograph.
“This has to stay between Danny and me.”
Within a week, he was gone.
“He’s my son too.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Please, Tisha. Don’t ask me anything.”
Over the next four months, Daniel still answered when I called, but every conversation eventually reached the same wall.
“Mom, I love you. But don’t ask me to forgive Dad.”
“Please, Tisha. Don’t ask me anything.”
I hated Richard for refusing to explain.
I hated Daniel for leaving.
Mostly, I hated myself because while the two men I loved tore something apart between them, I had no idea what I was supposed to fix.
I hated Richard for refusing to explain.
And fixing things was usually the one
