Evan had not invited him. Their father had called Daniel beforehand, expecting him to help persuade Evan to compromise. Instead, Daniel sat down and told their mother he would not bring Sophie to the house either.

“She asked if you made him do that too,” Evan said.

“What did Daniel say?”

“He said Claire and Sophie were his family, and he should have understood sooner what that required.”

For the first time, their mother’s behavior had cost her something that could not be blamed on me alone.

Their father followed Evan into the parking lot. Away from his wife, he admitted that he knew she had struck me deliberately. He asked Evan to give her time.

“I said time was fine,” Evan told me. “Access wasn’t.”

That evening, I received confirmation from the ceramics studio. A new session began in three weeks, on Thursday nights.

I registered before I could talk myself out of it.

When classes began, Evan came home early every Thursday. He made dinner, bathed our daughter, and handled bedtime. The first week, I checked my phone seven times. The second week, twice. By the fourth, I left it zipped inside my bag and shaped a wide, uneven bowl that leaned slightly to one side.

I brought it home after firing and set it in the center of our table.

“It’s crooked,” I told Evan.

“It looks strong.”

“It can be both.”

Winter shifted slowly toward spring. His mother stopped calling after he blocked her number. His father continued sending occasional messages until Evan told him that every attempt to bypass the boundary would extend the distance between them.

Daniel and Claire visited twice. They did not carry reports from the other house. They came to see us, not to negotiate for anyone else.

In March, a letter arrived addressed to me in his mother’s handwriting.

Evan found it in the mailbox and brought it inside unopened.

“You decide,” he said.

I held the envelope against the table. Part of me wanted to tear it up. Another part wanted to read it immediately, searching for the sentence that would prove nothing had changed.

Instead, I placed it beside the crooked bowl.

“I’m not opening it alone,” I said. “And I’m not opening it until I know reading it won’t obligate me to answer.”

“It won’t.”

That night, after the baby was asleep, Evan sat beside me while I broke the seal.

CHAPTER 4 – The Difference Between Sorry and Safe