Evan remained standing, shifting his weight awkwardly.
“It’s okay,” he insisted.
Grant stood and moved closer, lowering himself to meet his son’s eyes. “Evan.”
The tears came instantly.
“I can’t,” Evan whispered, voice trembling. “It hurts too much.”
Something inside Grant hardened into clarity.
He lifted his son carefully, supporting him under the shoulders and avoiding pressure on his lower back, and carried him upstairs to the master bathroom where the lighting was bright and unforgiving.
He set Evan gently on the edge of the tub.
“You’re safe here,” Grant said quietly. “You’re not in trouble. I need you to tell me what happened.”
Evan’s small hands balled into fists as he tried to control his breathing.
“She said not to say anything,” he murmured. “She said if I told you it would be worse.”
Grant’s pulse slowed instead of quickened, a controlled calm replacing the panic that had threatened to erupt.
“Who said that?” he asked softly.
“Mom,” Evan replied, voice cracking. “And her boyfriend. She said you couldn’t fix it.”
Grant closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them his expression had shifted into something steady and unyielding.