time in our marriage, Tyler obeyed without arguing.
—
The room was small and windowless, with a scratched table, six plastic chairs, a coffee machine, and an airline safety poster curling away from the wall.
It smelled faintly of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner.
Mason sat beside me.
Vanessa sat across from us.
Tyler remained standing.
I noticed he had taken off his pilot cap.
For some reason, that mattered.
Without it, without the uniformed confidence, without the cockpit door between him and everyone else, he looked smaller.
Ordinary.
Human.
Mason’s backpack rested in his lap.
The folded corner of his drawing stuck out of the front pocket.
I couldn’t look at it for long.
Vanessa placed the hospital photograph on the table.
“Explain.”
Tyler rubbed both hands over his face.
“There are things you don’t understand.”
I nearly laughed.
“That sentence should be printed on the official uniform of guilty
