My eighteen-year-old brother reached for one piece of chicken at dinner, and my mother-in-law slapped him so hard his fork hit the plate. “You greedy little freeloader!” she screamed. My husband didn’t defend him. He looked at me and said, “Don’t make this worse.” Four years of keeping the peace ended right there—because Diane still believed she was standing in her son’s house.

“If that’s where you choose.”

He stared at me.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that would prove your point.”

For the first time in twelve hours, something in me loosened slightly.

Not much.

But enough.

Ethan booked a hotel.

He packed a small bag.

Before leaving, he stood in the doorway of Noah’s room.

Noah was sitting on the bed checking information for orientation.

Ethan knocked even though the door was open.

“Can I come in?”

Noah looked at me.

I nodded.

Ethan stepped inside.

“I owe you an apology.”

Noah immediately said, “It’s fine.”

I almost interrupted.

Ethan did first.

“No. It isn’t.”

Noah looked surprised.

“My mother hit you. I saw it. And instead of defending you, I blamed you because I was trying to keep her calm.”

Noah stared at him.

“I’m sorry.”

For several seconds, Noah said nothing.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

Ethan waited.