My hand was trembling so hard that I had to end the call immediately. Mom noticed the tension in my posture right away. She reached over gently toward my lap.
“Give him here,” she said, referencing Noah.
“I can hold him,” I insisted reflexively.
“I know,” she said quietly.
That simple response was so profoundly different from “You can’t.” I breathed out a long sigh and let her take him.
Mason arrived at my mom’s front door the very next evening looking absolutely furious. “My mother called me,” he said abruptly as soon as I stepped onto the porch to let him in. “She wanted to see you and the boys, so I had to tell her you weren’t home.”
“And?” I asked, watching him closely.
“She asked why,” he admitted, his jaw tightening.
“What did you tell her?” I asked.
“The truth, apparently,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.
