I already knew the rest.
“You didn’t go.”
He shook his head.
“A work emergency came up. I thought he’d understand.”
The guilt on his face was obvious.
“I’ve spent years trying to make up for that.”
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Ryan wasn’t protecting Zane because he thought his behavior was acceptable.
He was protecting him because he felt responsible for the pain behind it.
Unfortunately, Zane had learned how to use that guilt to avoid consequences.
A few weeks later, money began disappearing from my wallet.
At first, it was twenty dollars.
Then forty.
Then another thirty.
I thought I might be imagining things.
Eventually, I started recording exact amounts.
The pattern became impossible to ignore.
One evening, I approached Ryan.
“I think Zane is taking money.”
Ryan frowned immediately.
“Kira…”
“I know how it sounds.”
“You don’t know that.”
Part of him still wanted to believe the best about his son.
So I waited.
Over the next two weeks, more money disappeared.
Finally, I photographed several bills and wrote down their serial numbers.
Three days later, they were gone.
That night, Ryan and I searched Zane’s room together.
The missing bills were hidden inside an old shoebox beneath his bed.
The serial numbers matched perfectly.
Ryan looked devastated.
Zane looked trapped.
For the first time all summer, there was no excuse available.
After a long silence, Ryan spoke.
“Why?”
Zane stared at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he stood up and walked away.
The conversation ended there.
Or so I thought.
A week later, Ryan and I were invited to attend a close friend’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration in a neighboring city.
Originally, I refused to leave Lena and Kai with Zane.
Absolutely refused.
But Zane surprised us.
He apologized for stealing.
Not a great apology.
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