I never stopped being his son.

I only, permanently, stopped being his accomplice.

Once he said to me, unhappily, that it felt as though my mother had become my whole world and he had become a stranger.

“You’re not a stranger, Dad,” I told him.

“You’re my father.

But Mom is not your wife anymore, and you made that choice a long time before she ever signed the papers.” He never raised it again.