Then he looked toward Vanessa, who was standing a few feet away.
She answered before he could.
"He's been picky lately."
Marcus straightened.
"Maybe we should get him checked."
Vanessa smiled.
"Of course."
Then she placed one hand on Jordan's shoulder.
"We'll schedule something."
They didn't.
Vanessa later told Marcus that the pediatrician's earliest appointment was several weeks away.
Marcus accepted the explanation.
He planned to follow up.
But an emergency at work distracted him, and the appointment slipped down the list.
That was one of the memories he would return to repeatedly after discovering the recordings.
Not because he could have known everything from one loose waistband.
But because he'd seen evidence that his son was struggling and had allowed someone else's reassurance to end the conversation.
By late March, Jordan had begun dreading weekends.
During school, he had access to teachers and other adults.
He could sometimes eat a school meal or accept food offered through normal school arrangements.
At home, Vanessa controlled nearly everything.
The kitchen.
The schedule.
The family meals.
And the explanations Marcus received.
On Saturdays, she often announced that Jordan hadn't earned breakfast because his room wasn't clean enough.
He would spend an hour organizing his belongings.
Then return to the kitchen.
Sometimes she told him breakfast was over.
Other times, she said he'd missed his chance.
When Marcus was home, those rules disappeared.
Vanessa laughed and made pancakes.
She poured syrup onto Jordan's plate.
Then told her husband what a good appetite the boy had.
Marcus smiled.
He never imagined that Jordan was eating quickly because he feared the food might be taken away.
The boy learned to recognize the sound of Marcus's car.
When he heard the engine in the driveway, he felt relief.
Not simply because he loved his father.
Because the house became safer when Marcus was present.
One Sunday evening, Marcus found Jordan crying beside the photograph of Grace.
He sat on the edge of the boy's bed.
"Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"
Jordan wiped his eyes.
"Nothing."
Marcus looked toward the photograph.
"Missing Mom?"
Jordan nodded.
His father placed an arm around him.
"I miss her too."
For a while, they sat quietly.
Then Jordan asked a question Marcus didn't expect.