ADRIAN Stefan was already crying before I even had the chance to tell him no. “No, Daddy, please,” he sobbed, clutching his iPad to his chest as though the thing could disappear at any second. “I want to call her again.” His small shoulders trembled. His hair was sticking to his forehead, damp with tears, and his lower lip kept wobbling in that way that made him look younger than he actually was. “Stefan,” I said gently, crouching in front of him. “You already talked to Mommy today.” “But I want to talk again. She said I could call anytime,” he insisted, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I didn’t get to tell her about Milo’s new trick. Daddy, please.” He held the iPad tightly with both hands, arms locked like I might try to take it away. God. He had done this yesterday too. And the day before that. He called her, she answered for him and Sofia. But the second I tried to say a word, the screen went black. Every time. After leaving her countless calls and messages, she’d blocked
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