Wade glanced at our youngest son.
Tobin didn’t look away.
“I don’t want to spend the next 20 years wondering whether you’ll approve of how I look before I walk into a room.”
Wade’s expression softened.
“Maren—”
“I called Laurel today. She said I can stay with her for a few days.”
He went still.
“Stay with her?”
“Yes.”
“Over this?”
“No, Wade. Because of what this has become.”
He stood, then sat again.
“You’re leaving me because I made one stupid comment?”
“I’m taking a few days away because you still think this is about one comment.”
Graham started to speak, but I raised my hand.
“Boys, I appreciate what you’ve done. But this part is between your father and me.”
They nodded.
Wade looked at me.
“I didn’t realize you were that unhappy.”
I believed him.
That was part of what hurt.
