My eldest son has passed away – When I went to pick up my youngest son from kindergarten, he told me, “Mom, my brother came to see me.”

“You used Ethan’s name,” I said. “You told my child to keep a secret.”

“I saw him at the school fair last week. He looks like Ethan.”

His shoulders slumped. “I know.”

Haines intervened: “Say your name.”

“Raymond Keller,” he replied.

“Why did you approach the child?” Haines asks.

Raymond looked at his hands. “I saw him at the school fair last week. He looks like Ethan.”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see myself in the truck again.”

“So you looked for his school,” I said.

Raymond nodded. “I deliberately got this maintenance job.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I can’t sleep,” he said. “Every time I close my eyes, I see myself in the truck again.” He swallowed hard. “I have health problems. Spontaneous fainting spells.”

“So you chose the risk.”

“And you still took to the road,” I said.

He nodded, tears welling up. “I was supposed to get checked out. I didn’t go. I couldn’t lose my job.”

“So you took the risk,” I said.

“Yes,” he murmured, lowering his head.

“And my son died.”

Raymond collapsed.

Raymond wiped his face with his sleeve.

I stared at him.

“And who did you think talking to Noah would help?” I asked.

Raymond wiped his face with his sleeve. “Me,” he admitted. “I thought if I could do something… if I could help her stop crying… maybe I could feel better.”

I leaned forward. “So you used my child to ease your guilt.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And who did you think talking to Noah would help?”

“You have no right to contact my family,” I said.

Haines looked at me. “Madam, we can request a no-contact order.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I want him fired.”

Raymond raised his head. “I’m not expecting forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“He was wrong to talk to you.”

Ms. Alvarez brought Noah back inside. His eyes were red. He was holding the dinosaur like a shield.

I knelt down. “Noah,” I said softly. “This man is not Ethan.”

“But he said…”

“I know,” I said. “He lied.”

Raymond kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

“But he was sad.”

“He was,” I said. “But adults don’t burden children with their sadness. And they don’t ask children to keep secrets.”

Noah blinked. “So Ethan didn’t tell him anything?”

“No,” I said. “That’s wrong.”