“And then Ethan started kicking your chair.”

Owen looked down at his hands.

“I got angry.”

“That would make anyone angry.”

“But it scared me.”

“Why?”

“Because for a second, I heard Dad in my head.”

He touched his chest.

“I could feel that voice rising.”

“So I went to get the manager.”

I nodded.

“You handled it exactly the right way.”

“I thought so.”

His eyes filled again.

“Then I saw Ethan’s dad grab him.”

He stared through the windshield.

“And that kid looked at me.”

Owen shook his head.

“He had the same expression I remember having.”

For years, Owen explained, he had believed there were only two options.

Be like his father.

Or never confront anyone.

He had chosen silence.

He endured wrong meals.

Bad deals.

Disrespect.

Anything.

Because he thought avoiding conflict was the only guarantee that he wouldn’t become Frank.

“But tonight,” he whispered, “I didn’t scream.”

“No.”

“I didn’t threaten anybody.”

“No.”

“I just said what was true.”

He looked at me.

“And it worked.”

I squeezed his hand.

“You can stand up for someone without becoming cruel.”

His expression changed.

Almost wonder.

“I didn’t know that.”

I leaned across the center console and hugged him.

“I’m proud of you.”

He laughed weakly.

“We didn’t even finish Spider-Man.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked at my hair.

“You still have popcorn in there.”

“I know.”

“A lot.”

“I know, Owen.”

He removed one piece.

Then, before I could stop him, he ate it.

“Owen!”

He grinned.

“It’s still buttery.”

For the first time that night, we both laughed.

When we arrived home, Mrs. Pham was sitting in the living room.

“You’re early.”

“Long story.”

“How was Frank?”

“He woke up about an hour ago,” she said. “He was confused at first.”

Owen paused.

“He kept asking for you.”

“For me?”

Mrs. Pham nodded.

“I told him you had gone to a movie.”

Her expression softened.

“He said, ‘I used to take my boy to the movies.’”

Owen became very still.

“He’s awake?”

“In his room.”