Our children were seventeen, fourteen, and nine.
Ethan.
Sophie.
Max.
Ryan asked whether Megan should be present.
I stared at him until he apologized for asking.
Then Sunday afternoon, we sat in the living room.
No television.
No phones.
Ryan looked sick.
Ethan noticed first.
“Are you guys getting divorced?”
Straight to it.
I answered:
“Probably.”
Sophie started crying.
Max looked at Ryan.
“Why?”
Ryan opened his mouth.
Then looked at me.
I said:
“You answer.”
Good.
He swallowed.
“I had an affair.”
Sophie stared.
“With who?”
He closed his eyes.
“Megan.”
Silence.
Then Ethan stood.
“Aunt Megan?”
Not actual aunt.
The honorary kind.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
Emergency contact.
The person who once took Sophie shopping for her first formal dress.
“Yes.”
Ryan whispered.
Ethan walked toward the hallway.
“Ethan.”
He turned.
“You said we were supposed to tell the truth even when it costs us something.”
Ryan began crying.
“I know.”
