I always thought my son’s wild imagination was one of the sweetest things about him. I never expected one innocent comment to make me question my entire marriage.
Folded laundry sat neatly on the living room table. They all smelled of the lavender softener I’d been buying since our wedding.
That evening, I sat cross-legged on the living room rug, matching socks while Willie narrated some grand adventure to a lineup of toy cars along the baseboard.
“This one’s the fastest, Mommy. But he can’t turn left.”
Willie narrated some grand adventure.
“Only right turns?” I asked.
“Yeah. If he turns left, he becomes a frog.”
I laughed. Willie was three and already funnier than most adults I knew.
My son had been like that since he could talk, turning blankets into forts, racing his toy cars across the kitchen floor, inventing games with rules only he understood, and giving voices to his crackers before he ate them.
“He becomes a frog.”
Willie could turn almost anything into an adventure, so I was used to hearing strange things from him, and I loved it. Seven years married to Joe, and that small, chaotic person was the best thing we’d made together.
***
My husband had been staying late at work more often lately. He came home tired, kissed me, and glanced at his phone while I served dinner. I told myself it was project stress. I’d been telling myself that for a while.
I was used to hearing strange things.
***
That evening, the front door opened just after six.
Willie shot up like a rocket.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, buddy.” Joe scooped him up, spun him once, and set him back down. He caught my eye and smiled, looking tired. I still loved that smile. “Something smells good.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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