Ethan looked older.
His beard was uneven, and the dark circles under his eyes made him seem less polished than Madison remembered.
He stood when she entered.
“Madison.”
She nodded and sat down.
The mediator talked about parenting time, communication rules, financial responsibilities, and the best interests of the child.
Not punishment.
Not victory.
Noah.
When it was Ethan’s turn to speak, he looked at the table first.
“I know I missed his birth.”
Nobody rescued him from the silence.
“I know I chose that trip.”
Madison folded her hands together.
“I was wrong,” he said.
Not his mother pressured him.
Not the tickets were expensive.
Not Madison overreacted.
Just that.
I was wrong.
Madison believed him more in that moment than she had believed anything he said in the last year of their marriage.
Belief did not fix trust.
“I do not hate you,” she said.
Ethan’s shoulders dropped.
“But I do not trust you.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“You missed the day Noah was born.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“You will never get that day back.”
This time he did cry.
Quietly.
With one hand pressed hard against his mouth.
Madison did not comfort him, and for once she did not apologize for letting his regret belong to him.
