Neither of us said anything.

Some truths didn’t need to be announced.

We ate breakfast at the old oak table.

Mason talked about school, his friends, the dog he wanted someday, and a new idea for a miniature bridge strong enough to hold a stack of books.

I could answer questions about his teacher, his favorite subjects, and his plans for the next week.

I knew where the extra napkins were kept.

I knew he disliked soft crackers in soup.