I didn’t actually know that. But I knew giving up on him wasn’t the answer.
That evening, I spread all the meeting notes across the kitchen table and started organizing them into a three-ring binder. Color-coded tabs for medical, educational, therapy, legal. My hands knew this work from years in classrooms.
Ethan came in from the living room. He’d been watching his show—the same episode he watched every Friday. His yellow cup sat on the counter where he always left it.
He stood watching me work.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
