He watched Marcus remember Dylan’s allergy and drop everything for Dylan’s fever and show up, warm and attentive and reliable, at Dylan’s every small event.

The tenderness existed.

The reliability existed.

The showing-up existed.

It was simply pointed at another house, and Ethan grew up in the cold spot just outside its light, close enough to see the warmth and never inside it.

That is a particular cruelty, and I do not think Marcus ever grasped that he was inflicting it, because he never had to stand where Ethan stood and watch himself be generous to someone else’s son.

A child can make peace with a father who has nothing to give.