My son drained every last dollar from our life savings accounts and disappeared with the woman who helped him do it. I was heartbroken beyond words — until my 13-year-old grandson smiled and said, “Grandma, don’t worry. I’ve handled it.” A few days later, my son called back in a panic…

“Where are you going?” I asked. He looked back only long enough to say, “Somewhere I can breathe again.”

Then the door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam. Through the front window, I watched him load his suitcase into his silver Honda and pull away from the curb in front of the house where his son had lived his entire life.

Dry leaves chased the tires down the street. The taillights flashed at the stop sign, then disappeared around the corner. Mason and I stood in the sudden silence of the living room.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily. The furnace hummed to life. Somewhere upstairs, the broken picture frame still lay on Craig’s bedroom floor.

“Is he coming back?” Mason asked. I wanted to lie. I wanted to give him one of those soft grown-up lies people hand children like blankets.

He needs time. He loves you. He will come to his senses.

But Mason was too smart for comfortable lies, and I loved him too much to insult him with one. “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” I said. He closed his algebra book with careful precision and stacked it neatly with his other textbooks.