My hand was over my mouth.
They arrived late morning, both holding coffee cups and wearing faces that said we’re worried, but we’ll wait until you’re ready to talk.
Gina kissed my cheek, glancing around the kitchen like it might look different.
“Everything okay, Mom?” Alex asked, standing by the back door.
I nodded, motioning for them to sit. They took their usual spots at the table without question — muscle memory, almost.
“Everything okay, Mom?”
I sat across from them and placed the envelope in the center.
“What’s that, Mom?” Gina asked.
“Just read it.”
They leaned in together, their eyes scanning the page. Neither spoke at first.
Gina’s hand moved to her mouth. Alex’s jaw tightened. He was the first to speak.
“What’s that, Mom?”
“He let us believe that he was a monster.”
“He was dying,” I said quietly. “And he made sure I never saw it.”
“He thought he was saving you all that heartache,” Gina said, wiping her cheek.
“Maybe,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “But he stole my choice. And he let me carry the shame.”
The pause that followed didn’t feel holy. It felt earned.
