“Liam.”
“There’s one more thing.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course there is.”
He reached into the box and pulled out a smaller envelope.
My name was written on it.
Marie Hayes.
I recognized Marlene Parker’s handwriting.
I had seen it on Christmas cards.
School fundraiser forms.
Neighborhood notices.
“She wrote to me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A few months before she died.”
“Why didn’t she send it?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the envelope.
Then opened it.
Marie,
I owe you the truth, though I have no right to ask forgiveness.
Richard and I began seeing each other before Liam was born.
Paul knew after he found one of Richard’s letters.
By then I was pregnant.
Richard wanted me to leave Paul.
I was afraid.
Paul was controlling, and I knew what he could do when angry.
I stayed.
Richard promised he would help me.
Then he changed his mind.
When Liam was born, Richard came to the hospital once when Paul was away.
He held him for less than a minute.
After that, he said the boy looked too much like him and that he could not risk you discovering the truth.
My hands began shaking.
I stopped reading.
Liam watched silently.
I forced myself to continue.
When you began feeding Liam, I knew.
I saw him going to your house.
I should have stopped him.
Instead, I let him go because those hours with you were the happiest part of his childhood.
You gave my son what I failed to give him.
Safety.
Warmth.
Normal food.
Normal conversation.
A place where he could breathe.
I hated myself for needing you.
And sometimes I hated you because Richard had chosen your life over mine.
But none of that was your fault.
My vision blurred.
I wiped the page.
There was more.
Richard hated Liam visiting because he was terrified you would notice the resemblance.
Paul hated it because he believed Liam preferred you.
Both men punished him for finding comfort in your home.
I did not protect him enough.
For that, I will never forgive myself.
I am sorry for what we did to you.
But more than that, I am sorry for what we did to him.
If Liam ever gives you this letter, please know one thing:
He loved you.
He never stole from you.
And every time he came home from your house smiling, I knew you had given him one more good memory than I was capable of giving him.
Marlene
I lowered the letter.
For a long time, I couldn’t see.
I cried so hard my chest hurt.
Liam sat beside me.
He didn’t touch me.
He waited.
After a while, I whispered, “You should have had better parents.”
He looked down.
“I had you.”
That broke me completely.
I reached for him.
He hesitated only half a second.
Then he leaned into me.
I wrapped my arms around him.
He was a grown man now.
Broad shoulders.
Expensive suit.
Gray beginning near one temple.
But for one moment, he was eight years old again.
Cold.
Hungry.
Trying not to ask for too much.
I held him.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
“I should have seen it.”
“Mrs. Hayes.”
“I should have protected you.”
“You did.”
“Not enough.”
He pulled back.
“You gave me somewhere to go.”
“That wasn’t enough.”
“It was to me.”
I looked at him.
“Why did you call me Mrs. Hayes?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“When you were at the door.”
His mouth twitched.
“Habit.”
“No.”
“What should I call you?”
I smiled through tears.
“Marie.”
He laughed softly.
“That feels wrong.”
“Then don’t.”
He looked down.
After a moment, he said, “I used to call you Mom in my head.”
I froze.
He looked embarrassed immediately.
“Forget I said that.”
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.”
I took his hand.
“Say it again.”
His eyes filled.
“I used to call you Mom in my head.”
I covered my mouth.
For twenty years, I had grieved a son I thought had betrayed me.
And all those years, he had been carrying me as a mother in his head.
Then the front door opened behind us.
Liam stiffened.
I turned.
Richard stood there.
He had come through the garage.
His face was flushed from the heat.
He carried a grocery bag in one hand.
“What the hell is going on?”
He looked at me.
Then Liam.
Then the black box.
The grocery bag slipped from his fingers.
A jar shattered inside.
No one moved.
Richard’s face drained white.
“What is that?”
I stood.
“You know.”
He stared at Liam.
“You.”
Liam didn’t move.
Richard’s shock became anger.
“What are you doing here?”
“Giving Marie something.”
“You need to leave.”
“No.”
Richard looked at me.
“Tell him to get out.”
I laughed.
It sounded strange even to me.
“Why?”
“Because this is my house.”
“Our house.”
“Marie.”
I held up Marlene’s letter.
“What is this?”
His eyes locked onto it.
Then the photos.
Then the receipts.
He knew.
Every single lie had arrived home at once.
