When our son ended up in the ER with a broken leg, my ex-husband insisted it was nothing more than a random acc:ident.

I wanted to believe him. I truly did. But that night, a charge nurse slipped a note into my hand that read: He’s lying. Check the camera at 3 a.m.

What I saw changed everything.

I was finishing a report at work when Jasper’s name flashed across my phone. Howard was staying with him that week, so I answered immediately.

“Okay, don’t panic,” Jasper began.

My stomach dropped. “What happened?”

“Howard broke his leg. Scooter accident. I was right there — total fluke.”

Howard is ten. Brave, reckless, still my baby.

“Is he okay? Where are you?”

“We’re at the ER. He’s fine. Just shaken up.”

I left work without another word and drove straight to the hospital.

Howard looked impossibly small in that oversized bed, a bright blue cast wrapped from ankle to knee.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes rimmed red.

“For what? It was an accident.”

“For falling.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.