When I Got Home From My Night Shift at 6:14 A.M., I Found My Husband in the Guest Room With My Sister While My Five-Year-Old Slept on the Cold Kitchen Floor — I Picked Up My Boy and Left Without Waking Either of Them, and by Sunrise I Understood the Guest Room Was the Smallest and Least Ugly Part of the Truth
I do not know how much a five-year-old absorbs of a sentence like that.
But I said it that morning, and I have said it in a hundred quieter ways every day since, because the one wound from that whole ugly business that I refuse to let scar over in my son is the belief that he was ever, for one second, the problem.
He was never the problem.
He was the only one in that house who did nothing wrong.
Chapter 5 — Did You Know
