I asked again.
Tyler looked at me.
“He didn’t survive.”
The words passed through me without meaning.
A distant ringing filled my ears.
I looked through the glass.
Mason sat outside drinking water.
His shoes didn’t quite reach the floor.
He was turning his toy airplane between his fingers.
My son.
My beautiful, ridiculous, curious son.
The boy who hated peas and loved thunderstorms.
The boy who crawled into my bed whenever Tyler was away overnight.
The boy who could identify aircraft logos faster than most adults.
My son.
Whatever else happened, that remained true.
I forced myself to breathe.
“Who decided to put Vanessa’s baby in my arms?”
Tyler looked down.
“My father.”
“And you knew?”
“Not then.”
“When did you know?”
Silence.
Vanessa whispered, “Answer her.”
Tyler’s eyes filled with tears.
“Six months after Claire and I married.”
My heart seemed to fold inward.
Six months.
Mason had
