The deliberate manipulation made a hollow laugh rise in my throat. Using a child as a pawn, wrapped up in a pretense of family harmony. I watched Adrian press his tiny forehead against my arm and, solemn and quiet, say, “Mommy, please… forgive Daddy. He made a mistake. He won’t do it again.”
I could have refused. I could have set the tray aside, said no—today, tomorrow, never. But I looked at my son—my warm, trusting little boy—and something inside me cracked. For his sake, I swallowed the hot, bitter bile in my chest and nodded.
“Okay,” I murmured, forcing a fragile smile. “For you, Adrian.”
Sebastian’s relief was immediate, slick and oily. “Perfect. How about we go out? Family day. Amusement park! Fresh air, rides, cotton candy—it’ll be fun!”
“If it makes Adrian happy,” I said, though the edges of my patience were fraying.
The problem, of course, was Livia.
She had called earlier that morning, offering to join. “Oh, I’d love to see them,” she’d said, all sugary sweetness. “It’ll be fun to treat Adrian.” Innocent enough in tone, but I knew better.
I had said nothing. Sometimes silence is all you can give.