Ethan is still in custody. Nicole faces charges too. The lawyers talk about procedures, evidence, timelines.
But the real truth isn’t in any report.
The truth is this:
My son ate a meal his father served him with a smile.
And he survived.
So did I.
Sometimes I wake up smelling cilantro that isn’t there.
Sometimes a scraping chair makes my chest tighten.
Sometimes Ryan sleeps with the light on—and I let him.
Martha visits every Sunday. She doesn’t bring flowers. She brings practical things—bread, batteries, anything we need. Quiet help that holds everything together.
I don’t know when we’ll feel safe again.
But I do know this:
The next time I see Ethan…
