A murmur passed through the room when he called me Aunt Joanna.
Ethan noticed.
He noticed everything.
He gave a small, almost apologetic smile.
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“I call her Joanna when I’m explaining biology,” he said. “I call her Mom when I’m talking about my life.”
That was when my eyes filled.
Not because of Denise.
Not because of the cake.
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Because of him.
Because even in a moment he had spent years thinking about, he was trying to make the truth precise.
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Ethan unfolded the first sheet.
He did not read all of it.
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I was grateful.
Some things belonged to families even when those families had failed at keeping them safely.
He read only three sentences.
“Jo, I don’t know how to do this. You do. I know that isn’t fair. I know I’m asking you for something I have no right to ask, but when he is with you, I can see that he feels safe.”
