As I pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
He was frowning, looking around the empty car.
“Is everything okay, bud?” I asked, turning the radio down.
“Yeah,” Toby said.
He kicked his feet against the back of my seat.
“But why didn’t my other mom pick me up today like she usually does?”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“What do you mean, your other mom?” I asked calmly, keeping my voice completely steady.
“Daddy picks you up on Thursdays.”
Toby shook his head.
“No he doesn’t,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Daddy is never there.”
Before I could ask him anything else, Toby unzipped his little jacket pocket, pulled something out, and dropped it into the center cupholder.
“She told me to give this back to him,” he said.
I slowly pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road, put it in park, and just stared at the item in complete silence.
It was a key.
Not a house key.
A small, silver key on a plain ring — the kind that opens an apartment door.
I picked it up with two fingers and just held it.
My hands weren’t shaking.
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