Chapter 16 - Ethan’s Choice
The guardian ad litem recommended expanding Michael’s contact slowly.
Two supervised outings became one unsupervised Saturday afternoon each month.
Ethan objected.
“I don’t want to go.”
Rebecca asked why.
“He’s weird.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“He asks too many questions.”
“About what?”
“What music I like. What games. What food.”
Rebecca smiled slightly.
“He may be trying to know you.”
“He should already know.”
There it was.
The impossible standard Michael had created by absence.
Rebecca asked, “Would you be willing to give him a chance to learn?”
Ethan stared at his shoes.
“If Dad comes?”
“David won’t come.”
“Then no.”
Rebecca later explained to David:
“You cannot become the bridge for every interaction.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He frowned.
“If Ethan believes he can only tolerate Michael when you’re present, he never develops an independent relationship.”
David hated the logic.
But he accepted it.
The first Saturday Michael picked Ethan up alone, David waited at Sarah’s house.
Not because he needed to.
Because Ethan asked him.
Michael arrived exactly on time.
He looked nervous.
“Hey.”
Ethan wore his jacket but made no move toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“You said you like baseball.”
“I like playing. Watching is boring.”
Michael blinked.
“Okay.”
David hid a smile.
Michael tried again.
“Mini golf?”
“Fine.”
Sarah handed Ethan his phone.
“Call if you need anything.”
Michael noticed David.
“I’ll bring him back by five.”
David nodded.
“Have fun.”
Ethan looked at him.
“You’ll be here?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Michael’s face tightened but he said nothing.
They left.
For two hours David and Sarah sat in the house together.
It felt like a rehearsal for a marriage they no longer knew how to perform.
Sarah made coffee.
David repaired a loose cabinet hinge without thinking.
She watched.
“You don’t live here.”
“I know.”
“You’re fixing things.”
“It was bothering me.”
She almost laughed.
“That is so you.”
He smiled.
Then the silence returned.
Sarah asked, “Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The night you told Ethan Michael was his real dad.”
Sarah looked down.
“I hate myself for that.”
“Don’t.”
She looked up.
“Hate makes you stupid.”
“I was already stupid.”
“No. You were desperate.”
“That sounds like Michael.”
David nodded.
“Exactly.”
Sarah absorbed it.
“Maybe I judged him because I was afraid of being like him.”
David looked at her.
“You both chase different lives when the one you have feels disappointing.”
That hurt.
She accepted it.
At four fifteen Ethan returned early.
He entered the house carrying a cheap plastic trophy from mini golf.
David stood.
“How was it?”
Ethan shrugged.
“I beat him.”
Michael laughed.
“He destroyed me.”
Ethan looked at David.
“Michael cheats at scorekeeping.”
“I adjusted one hole.”
“You wrote four and got six.”
“Allegedly.”
Ethan almost smiled.
David saw it.
A small connection.
To his surprise, jealousy stabbed him.
Sharp.
Primitive.
He hated himself for it.
Michael noticed.
For one second the two men understood each other perfectly.
After Michael left, Ethan showed David the trophy.
“Michael knows a lot about baseball.”
“That’s good.”
“He used to pitch.”
“Did he?”
“High school.”
David nodded.
Ethan studied him.
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I had fun.”
David’s chest tightened.
“No.”
He crouched.
“Listen to me. You never have to protect me by being unhappy.”
Ethan’s eyes filled.
“But what if I like him?”
“Then you like him.”
“What if I call him something?”
David swallowed.
“Whatever feels right.”
Ethan looked relieved.
That night David returned to his apartment and cried.
Not because he regretted what he said.
Because being a father sometimes meant helping your child walk toward someone you feared could replace you.
Two days later Julia called.
“Michael’s lawyer proposed withdrawing the restriction request.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s a condition.”
David sighed.
“What?”
“Michael wants you to withdraw your de facto-parent petition.”
“No.”
“I assumed.”
“What’s his reasoning?”
“He says if Sarah allows visitation voluntarily, court recognition is unnecessary.”
David understood immediately.
Voluntary could disappear.
Legal recognition endured.
“No.”
“I’ll respond.”
Before hanging up Julia added:
“There’s another issue.”
David waited.
“Michael has filed for modification of child support.”
“What child support?”
“He apparently owes arrears.”
“How much?”
“Approximately forty-six thousand dollars.”
David went still.
“And he’s arguing?”
“That the old thirty-thousand-dollar payment from your father should count toward support.”
David almost laughed.
Michael was trying to convert the money he took to leave into proof he had provided for Ethan.
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The past had become currency again.
And this time, David intended to make sure the court saw exactly what it was worth.
