She nodded.
“You knew they’d refuse me.”
Another nod.
“And then I’d call Emma. And Emma would panic. And somebody would finally start asking questions.”
“Yes.”
Ryan looked at her like he’d never seen her before.
Ryan’s mother started to cry.
“I just needed somebody to start asking,” she said. “Everyone kept closing doors on me. Ryan. David. Ryan’s cousin. I thought if there was enough confusion, somebody would have to talk to me.”
I understood her desperation. I did. I’m a mother too.
I didn’t understand what she’d done with it.
Then she told her side.
She’d been nineteen when she married Ryan’s father. Twenty when Ryan was born. The marriage fell apart when Ryan was six. She said Greg fought her on visitation after the divorce. She was young, broke, working nights at a diner. Her calls went unanswered. Planned visits got canceled at the last minute. Letters came back unopened.
