“My therapist asked me something last week,” he said. “She asked me what I was most afraid of, when I was nineteen. And I said I was afraid of being broken. And she said, no, go deeper. And I sat there for a long time, and I finally said I was afraid that if anyone ever saw the broken part, they’d leave. Like my dad left.” He looked at his hands. “And then I did it. To you. To her. I became exactly the person I was afraid of. I saw something I couldn’t handle and I packed the suitcase. I put your clothes on the lawn. I’m my father, Claire. That’s what I’ve had to face.”“You came back,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Your father didn’t come back,” I said. “You did. Two days later. On your knees. That’s not nothing, Ben.”
