“Sweetheart,” I said, reaching across the table to touch his hand.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, to his plate.

“That,” I said gently, “is a terrible lie.”

His fork scraped hard against the ceramic, and he drew his hand slowly out from under mine, and I saw that he was trembling, and that his eyes had filled.

“You’re going to wish you’d never adopted me,” he whispered.

“Silas.

Please don’t say that.”