“Then I’ll say it clearly.
I don’t give you permission to take it.
And I never should have let you treat Camila that way.”
Diane stared at him as though he had betrayed her.
Maybe, from her perspective, he had.
From mine, he was six months late.
She dropped the key into Dad’s palm.
The tiny metal click sounded louder than her shouting had.
Dad immediately handed it to me.
He didn’t pocket it.
Didn’t hold it over my head.
Didn’t make a speech.
He placed it in my hand.
“Yours.”
My fingers closed around it.
I hadn’t realized until that moment how much of myself I had allowed other people to hold for safekeeping.
Diane turned toward the house.
“Fine.
If you’re leaving, get your things out tonight.”
Dad nodded.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
She stopped.
I think she had expected panic.
Instead, Dad opened his SUV and took out the grocery bags.
Ethan picked up the first one before he could.
Dad looked at him.
“Those go inside for Camila to sort.
Then you pack Noah’s things.”
Ethan hesitated.
“Okay.”
Diane gave a disbelieving laugh.
“Now you’re taking orders from him?”
Ethan turned around.
“No, Mom.
I’m finally doing something I should’ve done before he got here.”
Inside the house, everything looked exactly the same.
The ceramic dish by the garage door.
The towels Diane had once offered as a kindness.
Noah’s bottles drying beside the sink.
My laptop on the dining table where I had worked after everyone else went to bed.
But the rooms felt smaller now.
I packed Noah’s clothes first.
Then diapers, formula, medicine, his favorite blanket and the stuffed elephant he refused to sleep without.
Ethan stood in the doorway while I zipped the bag.
“Camila.”
I kept packing.
“I’m sorry.”
My hands stopped.
He stepped closer.
“I thought keeping quiet was keeping the peace.”
I looked at him.
“Whose peace?”
He had no answer.
“Every time you avoided a fight with her,” I said, “you gave the fight to me.”
His eyes dropped.
“I know.”
