Chapter 3

Without saying a word, I hung up.

I opened my feed and saw the photos Ryan had posted a few minutes earlier. They were taken during a family dinner at his parents' house, where he'd brought Cynthia to celebrate the holiday. One photo captured Joanna in profile as she stood over the stove in the kitchen.

The caption read, "Nothing beats bringing my little family of three home to Mom and Dad for Twelfth Night."

What stung most was seeing that my mother-in-law, Marilyn Jensen, had liked the post.

Knowing Joanna's entire family had such warped priorities, I couldn't even bring myself to feel angry anymore.

I liked the post and left a comment. "Joanna's specialty is spicy crab. Make sure she cooks plenty."

…

Less than a minute after I closed the app, Joanna's call came through.

"Ethan, what was that supposed to mean? Why are you liking and commenting on Ryan's post?" she demanded. "It's the holidays, and now you've gone and upset him. All those relatives are watching. You might not care about embarrassing yourself, but he cares about how he looks in front of everyone."

There was no guilt over being caught in a lie, and no apology for ditching Charlie and me. Instead, she was the one lashing out at me.

A cold laugh escaped me.

"Oh? Then, tell me, what was so wrong with my comment, and how am I the shameless one? He can post a photo of you cooking and call the three of you a family, and that's respectable?

"You can lie to me about driving your parents to your uncle's house when you're really over there playing house with another man, and that's respectable?"

I scoffed. "All I did was like the post and say my wife is a good cook, and suddenly I'm the shameless one?"

That took the wind right out of her sails.

She stammered for a long moment before finally getting the words out. "It's hard for Ryan to take Cynthia to his parents' place by himself. I had the car, so I drove them over. Can't you be a little more understanding?"

There it was again. Ryan had it hard.

I wasn't the reason he was struggling. Why was I always the one expected to understand?

Just then, Charlie ran over after washing his hands and threw his arms around my leg. "Daddy, is that Mommy? When is she coming? I want to talk to her."

A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. Even though he'd grown up with hardly any love or attention from his mom, he still wanted to spend a little more time with her.

I forced a smile and handed him the phone.

"Mommy, you promised you'd build Legos with me—"

Before he could finish, Joanna cut him off hastily. "Be good, Charlie. Cynthia is calling for me. I'll come home as soon as I'm done here."

Charlie called out to her repeatedly, but the line had already gone dead.

Seeing the hurt on his face, I reached out to pull him into my arms, but he just handed the phone back to me.

"Daddy, I think Mommy would rather be Cynthia's mommy than mine," he whispered. "I don't want Mommy anymore."

He was only five, but he already knew who cared about him and who didn't.

In the end, it was my own failure. I couldn't even give my son a complete family.

We spent the night at my parents' house, and I didn't take Charlie home until after lunch the next day.

There were some things I needed to say to Joanna face-to-face.

Around 3:00 pm, Joanna finally came home, carrying a container of cooked crabs and some leftovers.

"I brought food home, so we don't need to cook tonight. We can just heat this up," she said. "I even made sure to bring back your favorite crab."

I let out a cold laugh.

My favorite crab?

"Joanna, we've been married for six years. Our son is five years old. And you still don't remember that Charlie and I are both allergic to seafood? In your mind, which one of us actually loves crab? Me or Ryan?"

Of course she couldn't remember—because the one who loved spicy crab was Ryan.

For five years, spicy crab had consistently found its way onto our dining table. Time after time, I'd told her that Charlie and I were allergic to seafood. Every single time, she'd pack it into a container, claim it shouldn't go to waste, and take it over to Ryan's.

How ridiculous.

She hadn't forgotten at all. She'd just been inventing excuses to go see Ryan.

Joanna's face drained of color, then flushed bright red.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was the same line I'd heard a thousand times before.

"Ryan is raising a child all on his own…"

All the hurt and resentment I'd buried for years finally erupted.