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“What did you tell him?” I asked gently.
“I told him he was wrong and that youaremy real mom because you make my lunch and help with homework, and you came to all my soccer games even when it was raining.” His voice was fierce, protective. “But then he said his big sister heard their mom talking, and that you only married Dad because of some grown-up problem.”
I closed my eyes, feeling sick. The rumors were spreading, just as I’d feared they would. And now Luca was caught in the middle of adult complications he shouldn’t have to understand.
“And then what happened?”
“I pushed him,” Luca admitted in a small voice. “I know I’m not supposed to, but he was being really mean about you and I got mad.”
“Oh, honey.”
Principal Martinez appeared beside us, a kind woman in her fifties who’d worked at the school for decades. “Mrs. Marshall, thank you for coming. I’ve already spoken with Tommy and his parents. There will be consequences for both boys, but I wanted to talk with you about the underlying issue.”
I nodded, still holding Luca close.
“Children pick up on more than we think they do,” she continued carefully. “And unfortunately, adult conversations sometimes make their way to the playground. Luca was defending his family, which I understand, but we need to make sure he has better tools for handling these situations.”
“Of course. What do you recommend?”
“We’ll work with both boys on using words instead of physical actions when they’re upset. And it might be helpful to have some simple responses ready for Luca when other children ask questions about his family.”
After we left the school, I took Luca for ice cream even though it was barely two o’clock on a school day. He needed comfort food, and I needed time to process what had happened before Colby got home.
“Mom?” Luca said around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie dough. “Are you mad at me for pushing Tommy?”
“I’m disappointed that you used your hands instead of words,” I said carefully. “But I understand why you were upset.”
“He was wrong, wasn’t he? About you not being my real mom?”
The question I’d been dreading, asked with such innocent trust that it made my chest ache. How could I explain that legally, biologically, technically, Tommy Morrison was right? How could I tell this child who loved me so completely that our family was built on legal documents and necessity?
“What makes someone a real mom?” I asked instead.
He considered this seriously, licking his spoon. “Taking care of you when you’re sick. Making your favorite foods. Helping with scary things like homework and doctor visits. Loving you even when you’re in trouble.”
“Do I do those things?”
“Yeah. And you smell good, and you give the best hugs, and you always remember to cut the crusts off my sandwiches.” He paused. “Tommy’s mom forgets the crusts all the time.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “Well, then I guess that makes me pretty real.”
“That’s what I told him. But he said his dad said you only married Dad because of court stuff.” Luca’s voice got smaller. “Is that true?”
The direct question from this innocent child who trusted me completely felt like a physical blow. I could lie, deflect, change the subject. Or I could find a way to tell him a version of the truth that wouldn’t destroy his sense of security.
“Sometimes grown-ups get married for complicated reasons,” I said finally. “But the important thing isn’t why people get married. It’s whether they love each other and take care of each other afterward.”
“Do you love me and Dad?”
“I love you more than all the stars in the sky,” I said without hesitation. “And I love your dad too.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, but once they were spoken, I realized they were completely true. Despite all my fears and doubts, despite the complicated circumstances of our marriage, I loved Colby Marshall. Not because of proximity or convenience or shared responsibility, but because of who he was when he didn’t think anyone was watching.
“Good,” Luca said, satisfied. “Because we’re a family, and families love each other.”
By the time we got home, Colby’s truck was in the driveway. I found him in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and worry lines creasing his forehead.
“She’s here now,” he said when he saw us. “I’ll call you back.”