He was forced to cover every single dollar of Toby’s remaining medical debts. He had to sign over his share of our house, leaving him with nothing but his old Buick and a small apartment on the edge of town.

The worst part is he still doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He called my sister last week, complaining that I was being vindictive over something that happened in the past. He truly believed his own lies.

But I don’t care about his excuses anymore. Yesterday was Toby’s fifteenth birthday. We didn’t have a big party, just a small gathering in our backyard with some close friends and neighbors.

Toby was running around with the dog, his cheeks full of color for the first time in years. Sarah had sent him a small card from Georgia, with a photo of her daughter holding a matching blue knit blanket.

I sat on the porch, holding my coffee, watching my son laugh. The house is a little emptier now, and the silence takes some getting used to. But we are moving forward, and that is the only thing that matters.