I Got Home From the Oil Rig Two Weeks Early and Found My Eight-Year-Old Son Cooking Dinner for Strangers—The Messages He Never Sent Explained Everything.

I canceled the memberships and subscriptions Brandi had signed us up for.

I made a list of repairs the house needed and marked the ones that could wait.

The swing set stayed at the top of the list because Finn played on it.

The fancy patio furniture ended up near the bottom because nobody cared about it.

One afternoon an old coworker from the rig, Miguel, came by with a box of tools he had borrowed months earlier.

We sat on the porch drinking coffee while Finn played with Rig in his terrarium.