Chapter 10 - The Son He Did Not Have
Adrian came to see Ethan the next morning.
Not because he suddenly grew a conscience.
Because the judge ordered supervised contact after his affidavit collapsed.
The meeting took place in a family-services room with beige walls, plastic toys, and a camera in the corner.
I watched through one-way glass with Nora.
Adrian sat on a tiny chair that made his knees stick up awkwardly.
Ethan sat across from him.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Adrian tried.
“Hey, buddy.”
Ethan looked at the floor.
“I brought you something.”
He placed a new tablet on the table.
Ethan did not touch it.
“You like numbers, right? It has some math games.”
I closed my eyes.
Nora whispered, “He really is that stupid.”
Ethan looked up.
“You said I wasn’t your son.”
Adrian’s face changed.
“I was angry.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“Do you think I’m dumb?”
Adrian glanced at the camera.
“No.”
Ethan waited.
Adrian swallowed. “No.”
“You did before.”
“I was frustrated.”
Again.
An excuse shaped like an emotion.
Ethan picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“Mom says mistakes are when you do something wrong and you wish you didn’t do it.”
Adrian leaned forward. “I do wish I didn’t say it.”
Ethan’s eyes lifted.
“But you said it lots of times when Mom wasn’t there.”
My breath stopped.
Adrian went still.
Nora turned toward me.
I did not know that.
Ethan continued, voice flat.
“In the car. At Grandma’s. Once at the club. You said I made you look weak.”
Adrian looked toward the camera again.
“Ethan—”
“And you told Grandma you wished I was normal.”
The room behind the glass felt suddenly too small.
Adrian stood.
The supervisor immediately said, “Mr. Voss, please sit down.”
He did, but his face had flushed dark red.
“I never said I didn’t love you.”
Ethan’s mouth moved strangely.
Not quite a smile.
Not quite crying.
“You didn’t have to.”
That broke something in me.
Adrian’s shoulders dropped.
For one second, he looked like a father who understood what he had done.
Then he ruined it.
He pointed at the glass.
“She taught you to say this, didn’t she?”
Ethan recoiled.
The supervisor stood.
“Visit is over.”
Adrian slammed his palm against the table.
The tablet fell to the floor and cracked.
Ethan jumped.
And then, so softly I almost missed it, he said:
“Dad, Grandma has your red book.”
Adrian froze.
“What red book?” the supervisor asked.
But I was already staring at him through the glass.
May you like
Because Adrian knew exactly what Ethan meant.
