He was holding his phone on speaker.
My exs voice filled the room.
“Tell your mother you want to stay longer.”
His friend added, “Go on. Tell him what you said.”
My son shook his head.
I stepped beside him.
“He does not have to deliver messages for either of us.”
I ended the call and took him outside.
Once we were in the car, he began to cry.
“Whatever I say, somebody gets upset.”
I had been so focused on keeping arrangements workable that I had not understood what those days were costing him.
“I am sorry,” I said. “From now on, your dad and I handle our own conversations.”
I stopped the informal care arrangement and addressed future plans directly with his father. We also arranged support for the distress that did not simply vanish once he was home.
For a while, every ringing phone made him watch my face.
Then one evening, mine rang while we were building a model at the kitchen table.
“Do I have to talk?” he asked.
“No. You can keep working.”
I took the call in another room.
When I returned, he held up the piece he had finished.
“Look, Mom. It finally fits.”