“I do.”
“You think you do.”
“I took a DNA test.”
The words hit harder than the photographs.
I couldn’t answer.
Liam continued.
“Three years ago.”
I gripped the railing.
“You tested Richard?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“I matched with his sister’s daughter.”
My mind went blank.
Richard had a sister.
Margaret.
She had moved to Oregon years ago.
Her daughter, Claire, would be close to Liam’s age.
Liam watched me process it.
“We matched as first cousins.”
I stared at him.
“That could mean—”
“I know what it means.”
“DNA websites can make mistakes.”
“So I tested again.”
I closed my eyes.
“With another company.”
He nodded.
“Same result.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong.
I wanted to tell him this was cruel.
I wanted Richard to walk through the door, laugh, and explain everything in that irritated voice of his.
But Richard wasn’t home.
He hadn’t been home for almost three hours.
He had gone to play cards with two men from his old factory job.
For the first time in years, I was grateful for his absence.
I looked down at the scattered contents of the box.
“What else is in there?”
Liam hesitated.
“A lot.”
“Tell me.”
“Mrs. Hayes—”
“Tell me.”
He crouched again.
He picked up a bundle of letters tied with faded string.
“These were from Richard to my mother.”
My stomach turned.
He placed them on the porch table.
“Those are from before I was born.”
Then he picked up another envelope.
“These are from after.”
“How long after?”
“Until I was about nine.”
I stared at him.
Nine.
By then Liam was already coming into my house.
Already sitting at my table.
Already eating cookies in my kitchen while Richard glared from the living room.
I remembered Richard complaining.
One day, this is going to come back on us.
His parents will accuse us of interfering.
And we can’t afford to keep feeding another person.
The words sounded different now.
Not grouchy.
Afraid.
I looked at Liam.
“Did Richard know?”
He didn’t answer.
“Did Richard know you were his son?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me went completely still.
