I kept my voice gentle.
“Daddy won’t be here for breakfast tomorrow.”
Kieran looked confused.
“Where did he go?”
“He’s staying somewhere else for the weekend.”
My son considered that information for a few seconds.
Then he pushed his plate toward me.
“Can I have some more syrup?”
I was grateful he hadn’t asked anything else.
He was five years old.
He didn’t need to understand the complicated decisions his father was making.
And I had no intention of making him responsible for any of it.
Once Kieran settled down with his toys, I took a notebook from the kitchen drawer.
I opened it to a blank page and began examining Callum’s proposed arrangement.
School transportation.
Breakfast and dinner.
Bath time.
Bedtime stories.
Household bills.
Medical emergencies.
Family responsibilities.
Our shared bedroom.
Our marriage itself.
