“I will send him a message today,” I added.
Ethan took his paper back, leaving the torn scraps of gray cardboard on the laminate counter. He walked out of the kitchen without another word, his bare feet making no sound on the old linoleum.
Chloe waited until his bedroom door clicked shut upstairs before she leaned across the blue tablecloth.
“You cannot invite Dad to this,” Chloe whispered. “You know what will happen.”
“It is his fifteenth birthday on July eighteenth,” I said, setting the framed photograph back on the shelf next to the flour canister. “He deserves to have both of his parents in the yard for once.”
“He is going to bring her,” she said, her voice hard.
My throat tightened, but I kept my hands flat against the cool edge of the counter.
“He would not do that to his son,” I said. “Not on his birthday.”
“He does not care about what Ethan wants,” Chloe said, her voice rising slightly. “He only cares about how he looks to his business partners.”
