Chương 7
A small red baseball glove rested on a shelf.
Noah's old glove.
He had used it once and decided baseball was too boring.
He preferred riding his bike because, according to him, "Bikes don't make you wait your turn."
Derek picked up the glove.
"You remember this?"
"Yeah."
"He hated wearing the glove."
I almost smiled.
"He said it made his hand sweaty."
Derek laughed quietly.
"He said that while wearing winter gloves."
For a second, we were just two brothers standing in a garage.
Not fathers.
Not people searching for answers.
Just two people remembering a child being a child.
Then Derek placed the glove down.
The moment ended.
"Let's look."
We started carefully.
Not searching like criminals.
Searching like people afraid of what they might find.
I checked shelves.
Derek checked cabinets.
We did not touch more than necessary.
The first twenty minutes gave us nothing.
A broken chair.
Old paint cans.
Christmas decorations.
Nothing.
I felt embarrassed.
Almost relieved.
Maybe this was exactly what I had feared.
Maybe my mind had turned fear into something bigger.
Then Derek opened a cabinet near the back wall.
He stopped.
"What?"
He did not answer.
I walked over.
Inside was a small plastic storage bin.
The lid was cracked.
On top of it was a folded blanket.
Noah's blanket.
The blue one from when he was a baby.
My throat tightened.
"Why is that in here?"
Derek looked at me.
"I don't know."
I reached toward it.
Then stopped.
Not because I was afraid of the blanket.
Because underneath it was something else.
A small notebook.
Brown cover.
Bent corner.
I recognized it.
My old work notebook.
Except it was not supposed to be here.
I picked it up.
The first pages were filled with old notes from years ago.
Budgets.
Phone numbers.
Random reminders.
Then halfway through, the writing changed.
Different handwriting.
I turned the page.
Lena's.
My heart started beating faster.
Not because she had written in it.
Because of what she had written.
The date at the top was three months earlier.
The page contained only a few lines.
I read them once.
Then again.
"Travis keeps saying Noah needs more discipline."
My fingers went cold.
Derek looked over my shoulder.
"Keep reading."
The next line was shorter.
"He says I am too soft."
Another line.
"I don't know if he is right."
I stopped.
Because those words were not proof of everything.
They were not a confession.
They were not enough to answer all my questions.
They were something worse.
They were a window.
A glimpse into a person who had seen something uncomfortable and had chosen not to look too closely.
I turned the page.
There were more entries.
Not many.
Just scattered thoughts.
Lena writing things she apparently never planned to show anyone.
"Travis gets frustrated when Noah cries."
"He says boys need to learn not to be weak."
"He apologized after yelling."
"I don't know why I keep making excuses."
I felt my jaw tighten.
Derek stepped back.
"She knew."
The words hurt.
Because they were not completely true.
And they were not completely false.
"I don't know."
Derek looked at me.
"Jake."
"She wrote that she didn't know what to do."
"She wrote that she made excuses."
I closed the notebook.
My anger was there.
But underneath it was something heavier.
Disappointment.
Because I knew Lena.
I knew her fears.
I knew how much she hated conflict.
I knew she spent years avoiding arguments because she grew up in a house where every disagreement became a disaster.
That explained her.
It did not excuse her.
The garage door suddenly opened behind us.
We turned.
Lena stood there.
Her face was pale.
"I was looking for Noah's insurance card," she said.
Neither of us spoke.
Her eyes moved to the notebook in my hand.
Then she stopped.
"You found it."
I stared at her.
"You wrote these?"
She did not deny it.
That was the first honest thing she had done all day.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Her eyes filled.
"Because I was scared."
"Of what?"
She looked down.
"Of being wrong."
The answer made me angry.
More than denial would have.
"Your son was scared."
"I know."
"No, Lena."
My voice broke.
"You don't get to say that like you know now."
She looked like she wanted to argue.
Then she didn't.
And somehow that was worse.
"I thought if I watched carefully, I could handle it."
Derek shook his head.
"Handle what?"
Lena looked at him.
"The way Travis was changing."
The garage became silent.
I held the notebook tighter.
"What else don't I know?"
She looked at me.
And for the first time since this started, she looked truly afraid.
"There is something else."
"There is something else."
The words stayed in the garage longer than they should have.
A small sentence.
A quiet sentence.
But it carried the weight of everything Lena had not said.
Derek crossed his arms.
"What?"
Lena looked toward the driveway.
Not toward us.
Toward the street.
Like she was checking whether someone might hear.
That bothered me.
Because the person she was afraid of was not standing there anymore.
"Say it," I said.
Her eyes came back to mine.
"When I found out Travis was getting angry with Noah, I tried to talk to him."
"When?"
"A few weeks ago."
I stared at her.
"A few weeks ago?"
She nodded.
I felt something shift inside me.
Not anger.
Not only anger.
Something closer to betrayal.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I thought I could fix it."
"You keep saying that."
"I know."
"No, Lena."
My voice rose.
"I need you to understand what you're saying."
She wiped her face.
"I was scared that if I told you, you would take Noah away."
The sentence stopped me.
Because that was the truth underneath everything.
Not that she did not care.
Not that she wanted Noah hurt.
May you like
She was afraid.
And fear made people do things that looked impossible from the outside.
