Ryan cried.
“I hope so.”
Sophie turned toward me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did Megan?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“Does Dawson know?”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
Ethan stepped into the room.
“How long did Dad know?”
“About a year.”
I answered.
His jaw tightened.
“So you knew you had a son for a year and didn't tell your own kids.”
Ryan looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Mom?”
“Of everything.”
Ethan asked:
“Were you afraid while buying the condo?”
Ryan went still.
I had not told them about the condo.
Apparently Ryan had.
Or Ethan had overheard something.
“Ethan—”
“No.”
His voice shook.
“Answer.”
Ryan swallowed.
“No.”
Ethan nodded slowly.
Then asked the question that silenced the entire room.
“So why does fear always seem to stop you from telling the truth, but never from doing the thing you're lying about?”
Ryan had no answer.
Neither did I.
Because my seventeen-year-old had just summarized eighteen years of adult cowardice in one sentence.
