Half an hour later, Peter walked out the front door with his clothes, tossed his bag into his pickup and backed out of the driveway without a backward look.

When Beth came back two hours later to drop Austin off after their afternoon at the park, my son spotted the empty space where his father’s truck usually sat right away.

“Mom, where’s Dad’s truck?” Austin asked the moment he came through the front door, his eyes wide with sudden worry.

I knelt down on the carpet in the entry and took both his small, dusty hands in mine so we were eye to eye.

“Your dad and I have decided he’s going to stay at Uncle Luke’s house for a little while, sweetheart,” I explained in a calm, gentle voice.