Normally, he’d talk nonstop about what he was building.
But that night, he was unusually quiet.
Finally, he looked up.
“Mom, do you think Mrs. Ivy knows where Dad is?”
I put down the dish towel I was holding.
“Maybe.”
He studied my face.
Then said something that broke my heart.
“I don’t want him to make you cry anymore.”
I walked over and kissed his forehead.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about protecting me.”
He nodded.
But I could tell he was still thinking about the watch.
So was I.
Ivy had moved onto our street six months after Nathan left.
For years, she’d asked detailed questions about our lives.
And now she’d somehow ended up with his anniversary watch.
There had to be a connection.
The following morning, I knocked on her door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I called her phone.