The coffee mug trembles slightly in my hands as I stare out the kitchen window, watching Mark practice flying in the backyard. Steam rises between us like the questions I can’t bring myself to ask him yet. How do you tell your son that his father—the man he idolizes—isn’t the hero any of us believed him to be?
I set the mug down and smooth my sweater, a nervous habit I’ve developed since everything fell apart. The house feels too quiet without Nolan’s presence, yet somehow safer too. There’s something liberating about not having to pretend everything’s perfect anymore.
When I hear footsteps, I turn with that practiced smile I’ve perfected over the years—the one that says “everything’s fine” even when it isn’t. But maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to carry this weight alone anymore. Maybe it’s time someone else knew what it’s like to live in the shadow of secrets that could destroy everything you thought you knew about love.