I wasn’t looking at my thirty-eight-year-old husband anymore.
I was looking at the nine-year-old boy he had once been.
Then he stepped forward.
“Hey.”
The father turned.
“Oh, come on. What do you want now?”
Owen remained calm.
“Please let go of his arm.”
The father laughed.
“This is my son.”
“I know.”
“Then stay out of it.”
“You’re hurting him.”
“I’m parenting him.”
Owen looked at the man’s hand.
“Look at how tightly you’re holding him.”
The father glanced down.
For a brief second, something crossed his face.
Then he looked back at Owen.
“Get away from me.”
He stepped forward.
Owen didn’t move back.
But he didn’t challenge him either.
“I’m not going to fight you,” Owen said.
“I’m not going to shout.”
His voice remained level.
“I’m asking you to let go.”
The entire lobby seemed to quiet.
“When I was Ethan’s age,” Owen continued, “my father
