“That’s not what I …” he started.
“Then what, Rowan?” I demanded before he could even finish his sentence. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you don’t trust me to take care of my own son.”
“I didn’t say that.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“You didn’t have to.” The air between us tightened. Thick. Charged. Too close to something neither of us was controlling properly. “Stop doing this,” I said, quieter now, but no less sharp. “Stop showing up where you’re not wanted. Stop inserting yourself into things that are none of your business.”
“He is my business.” The words came fast. Instinctive. I laughed once. Short. Bitter.
“No.” My voice dropped. “He isn’t.” Something shifted in his expression. Frustration. Control slipping, just slightly.
“I’m not trying to take him
