The kitchen light buzzed overhead while I folded the last of Ethan’s t-shirts on the counter.
Mark had left when Ethan was ten.
One month later, he was living with Vanessa, a coworker from his office.
“Sorry, babe. Cupid’s arrow,” he had told me at the door, like that explained anything at all.
I picked up two jobs that same week.
I packed lunches at midnight.