“Mom?” he called softly, his voice slipping into that familiar, fragile tone that always made my heart squeeze.

“Yes, honey?” I answered, setting my car keys on the console table and giving him all of my attention.

“When Mason and Hailey are bigger and running all over the house, will I still get to live here with you?” he asked, looking up at me with wide, searching hazel eyes.

I put the canvas diaper bag down on the floor, realizing with deep humility that healing a broken heart is a long race made of a thousand small promises kept.

Three months of family counseling, honest talks and patient reassurance had brought us a long way, but the shadow of that betrayal still hung in the corners of his mind.