Not you’re welcome. Not it’s nothing.
Just the truth.
Ethan wiped his face quickly, trying to act older than he was.
“I was fine,” he muttered.
“You were lost in a storm,” Daniel replied.
“I didn’t want to go home.”
The words fell heavy between them.
Marisol felt it instantly.
Children don’t say that lightly.
Not unless home feels emptier than the street.
Daniel felt it too.
After a long moment, Marisol spoke again—unable to stay silent.
“Maybe,” she said, “before deciding who’s right or wrong… you just make sure he’s warm.”
Silence.
Then Daniel nodded.
“You’re right.”
He turned to his driver. “Start the car.”
Then, softer to his son, “You don’t have to talk yet.”
Ethan nodded.
Marisol tried again to take back her jacket.
Daniel stopped her.
“Let him keep it.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is to me.”
She glanced down at her baby, who was starting to fuss.
“I should go.”
“At least let us drive you home,” Daniel said.
“I’ve managed this far.”
Ethan spoke again.
“Please.”
She looked at him—and something softened.
“…Just home,” she said.
“Just home,” Daniel agreed.
The car was warm. Too warm.
It made her soaked clothes feel even colder.
Ethan sat beside her. Daniel across.
Her baby began to cry.