I remembered that moment.
“You’re always busy when I ask about Dad,” he said quietly.
I sat opposite him.
“You’re staying home next weekend. No sleepovers until we rebuild some trust.”
He nodded.
“And tomorrow, I’m going to your grandfather’s house.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“You’re actually going?”
“Yes. I want to see what you’ve been doing.”
That afternoon, I visited Frank for the first time in three years.
“Laura, I’m sorry,” he said.
“You let two mothers believe their sons were somewhere else for eight weekends. You could’ve stopped this.”
“Nathan asked me not to tell you.”
“He’s sixteen. You’re the adult.”
Frank lowered his eyes.
“I thought I was helping him.”
“You could’ve helped without lying. There won’t be any more visits without our permission, and no overnight stays until trust is rebuilt.”
