Dad sat on the sofa in the living room, in front of the mantel. Mom had put her beach photo back in its place.

Ethan and I sat across from him. Mom stayed in the kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Dad said. “I was... I wanted Brittany to be happy, and I didn't want to see what was happening. I made you feel like you didn't matter in your own home. I'm so sorry.” Ethan looked at his hands. Then he got up and hugged Dad. Just like that. He was twelve. He just wanted his dad back.

Dad held on to him, eyes closed.

Then he looked at me.

“Mads?”

I didn't move.

“You told me not to tell Mom,” I said. “You said it would be my fault if she lost her job. I believed you. For four months.”

He nodded slowly.

“And she put Grandma's quilt in the trash, Dad. Did you know that?”

“No,” he said, very quietly. “I didn't know. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.”

“I'm not ready yet,” I said. “But I'm not saying never.”

He nodded again.

“That's more than I deserve,” he said.