Because something had happened.
And it wasn’t going to be undone so easily.
Marcus stayed by my side, silent, looking towards the open house, as if he were still measuring what remained to be done.
“The police should be arriving soon,” he finally said, without taking his eyes off the road.
I nodded, although I didn’t look towards the street.
She just stared at Ethan.
His arm hung in an odd way, and every time he tried to move, his face twitched in a gesture he was trying to suppress.
“Let’s go to the hospital,” I said. “Now.”
Marcus hesitated for a second.
“If you leave…” he began.
I knew what finishing that sentence entailed.
Leaving meant leaving behind everything that had just happened, without confronting it immediately.
But staying… meant something different.
A little heavier.
I looked at the open door again.
Dark.
Silent.
As if it were hiding a version of the truth that wasn’t yet ready to come out.
“I’m leaving,” I said finally. “He comes first.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
He didn’t seem to completely agree, but he didn’t argue with it either.
“I’m staying,” he added. “When the police arrive, I’ll talk to them.”
That decision fell upon us with a silent weight.
Because it meant that someone would have to say it all out loud.
And that part was never easy.
I got into the car with Ethan in my arms, carefully placing him in the back seat as he squeezed my hand tightly.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“I won’t,” I replied, closing the door gently. “I’m here.”
As I drove toward the hospital, every traffic light, every turn, seemed to occur within a kind of fog.
Ethan remained silent for most of the way, breathing slowly, as if he feared that any sound would make things worse.
“Dad…” he said suddenly. “Did I misbehave?”
The question came without warning, small, but devastating.
I felt something tighten inside my chest.
“No,” I replied immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But he said yes,” she insisted, staring out the window without really seeing anything. “That I… that I made him angry.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, but kept my voice soft.
“That’s not true,” I said. “Sometimes adults say things that aren’t right.”
Silence returned.
But this time it wasn’t empty.
It was a thought.
We arrived at the hospital and everything became a flurry of activity: nurses, questions, white lights, hands examining carefully.
The diagnosis came in simple words: fracture.
Nothing irreversible, they said.
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