“We need to talk about the four hundred dollars a month,” I said quietly.

“I know,” Ethan said.

He walked over to the sofa and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees.

I followed and sat on the far cushion, leaving a narrow space between us.

“I was terrified,” Ethan whispered, looking down at his hands.

“When June was born, every time she cried, I felt like I was failing.

When my mother offered to pay for the cleaning lady, I took it because it made me feel like I was keeping up.”

“You let me believe you were doing that work while I was taking care of my mother,” I said.