Noah stared at his hands. “We’re sorry, Mom. Really.”
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I believed him. But I also knew that sorry is where a conversation begins, not where it ends.
So we made rules, right there around the coffee table, with a biscuit tin full of money between us. The secret jobs ended that day. Kevin would call the school the next morning and set up meetings with each teacher. The boys would make up every missed assignment, and go to after-school tutoring until their grades recovered.
There would be consequences at home for the lying, too. No phones for two weeks, and the dishes every night for a month.
Neither of them argued. Ethan only asked, in a small voice, “Can we still… can the money still be for you?”
“I’ll keep it safe,” I said. “But we’ll decide together what happens to it. All of us.”
