I had written a different chart in June.
The boys had helped decorate it. We had divided small jobs between them, with Vanessa and me responsible for the larger ones.
That chart had been hanging on the refrigerator every weekend I came home.
I knew because I had congratulated myself on it.
My name is Andrew Mitchell. Most people call me Andy. I was forty-one, a regional sales manager, and three years into a marriage I believed had settled into something dependable.My first wife, Sarah, lived in Dallas. Ethan spent the school year mainly with me in Oklahoma City, where he had stayed after our divorce because we wanted him near his school and friends. He visited Sarah regularly and spent longer stretches with her during school breaks.
We had made an arrangement that worked.
Then, in June, I accepted a temporary assignment covering several territories. What was supposed to be six weeks became sixteen. I left on Mondays and came home on Fridays.
The commission checks improved.
My son’s life did not.
I didn’t know that yet.
