Paul,
Enough.
You got more than we agreed.
The boy is almost grown.
Keep him away from my house and keep your mouth shut.
If Marie finds out, you’ll regret it as much as I will.
I stared at the name.
Marie.
Me.
He had written about me as if I were a problem to manage.
I folded the letter carefully.
“So this is why he hated you coming over.”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t afraid your parents would accuse us of interfering.”
“No.”
“He was afraid Paul would use it against him.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything fit now.
Every complaint.
Every dirty look.
Every time Richard told me Liam was “too comfortable” in our house.
He wasn’t worried about feeding another child.
He was terrified of feeding his own.
I whispered, “Did your mother love him?”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Liam thought about it.
“I think she did.”
“Did he love her?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer hurt less than certainty.
I looked at the photographs again.
Marlene had always seemed cold.
Tense.
A woman whose face looked permanently braced for bad news.
Had she loved Richard?
Had she regretted him?
Had she resented me?
I would never know.
“What was in the box originally?”
I asked.
Liam looked confused.
“What do you mean?”
“You said Paul kept everything.”
“Oh.”
He looked at the large black box.
“This was his.”
“What did he use it for?”
“Documents.”
“About Richard?”
“Yes.”
“And your mother gave it to you?”
“After she died.”
I nodded slowly.
“So this is twenty years of secrets.”
“More.”
I looked at him.
“What else?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me.
