Our home.
The place where I had chosen the curtains, where I had painted the walls of Ethan's room, where I had cried silently when Daniel lost his first big contract years ago.
Everything seemed contaminated.
I remained motionless for several minutes, unable to move the steering wheel.
My thoughts were going in circles.
Ethan had said that "she sleeps in our room when you're not here."
Since when?
How long has my son been carrying this burden in silence?
"Is Dad angry with you?" asked Ethan, his voice trembling with innocence.
I swallowed.
—No, my love. Daddy… Daddy is doing something wrong.
—He told me it was an adult secret.
That sentence broke me more than the kiss on the doorstep.
A secret imposed on a five-year-old child.
