“Please.”
He pulled away.
“If he wants anyone to respect him, he should join the army.”
Nobody spoke.
Marcus looked directly at Andrew. “Maybe then you’ll finally become a real man. I’m trying to save you from a world that won’t be kind to you.”
The words hung over the table like smoke.
I remember hearing my niece start crying in the next room, I remember my mother whispering, “Marcus,” and I remember Andrew’s face.
Not angry or embarrassed. Just… broken.
He stood.
“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair.
“You’ve been avoiding the truth your whole life.”
Andrew looked at me. For one awful second, I thought he was asking me to choose.
I should have stood up.
I should have walked out with him. Instead, I stayed in my chair, stunned into silence.
Andrew left the dining room, ran upstairs, and a few minutes later, I heard the front door close. I thought he just needed air. I had no idea it would be the last time I’d see my son for years.
I still remembered every minute after that.
The guests left one by one, each offering awkward smiles and quiet apologies, as though they felt responsible for what had happened.
I cleaned plates I couldn’t remember serving while Marcus sat in the living room, watching television as if he’d done nothing wrong.
“Are you going to apologize?” I asked.
He didn’t look away from the screen.
“For telling the truth?”
“You humiliated him.”
“He embarrassed himself.”
I slammed a plate into the sink harder than I meant to.
“He’s my son.”
“And he’s 18 now. Maybe it’s time someone stopped treating him like a child.”
I wiped my hands on a towel and walked upstairs.
Andrew’s bedroom door was open, the room empty. I figured he was taking his time, clearing his head.
Then I saw the note on his bed.
“Mom,”
“I love you more than anyone in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. Please don’t look for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Andrew.”
I remember screaming.
Marcus came running upstairs, pretending to be just as shocked as I was. For the next few weeks, he played the role of the worried stepfather perfectly.
He drove me to the police station, printed missing-person flyers, and even joined me when I walked through parks, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of my son.
When the police reminded us Andrew was legally an adult and had every right to leave, Marcus wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
