Nobody Has to Bleed to Be Heard

And in February, on an ordinary Tuesday, my son asked me a question.

Liam is eight.

He’d heard something at Chloe’s — an adult sentence not meant for him, which is how children always find out everything — and he waited two days and then asked me while I was making eggs.

“Dad.

Is it true that Grandma took our food when I was a baby?”

I turned the burner off.