“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
I looked at the signed document.
“I just think consequences have a strange sense of timing.”
She started crying.
I hadn’t heard Laura cry in years.
“Craig, please.”
I closed my eyes.
“What’s happening with the boys?”
“They’re with me.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That was the only part of the conversation I cared about.
Then Laura said:
“I told them you were being difficult.”
My eyes opened.
“You told our sons that?”
“I was angry.”
“They’re children.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
She started apologizing.
But I interrupted her.
“Don’t explain it to me. Explain it to them.”
Silence.
“You owe them that.”
I ended the call.
That afternoon, something happened that I hadn’t expected.
Rick called me.
“Dad?”
“Hey, buddy.”
“Mom says you’re mad at us.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“She said you were mad because of
