His arms tightened around me.
“I never stopped either.”
I cried harder than I had cried in years. Grief had once taken my first husband from me. But this was different. This was love stolen by a lie.
Behind us, Marcus finally spoke.
“I did what I thought was best.”
Andrew let me go slowly.
Together, we turned toward him.
“What was best?” I asked.
My voice was quiet, but it did not shake.
Marcus straightened.
“I was protecting our family.”
“Our family?” I stared at him. “You tore it apart.”
“He was tearing us apart.”
Andrew laughed bitterly.
“I was eighteen.”
“You refused to listen.”
“I refused to become someone I wasn’t.”
Marcus pointed at him.
“You expected everyone to accept your choices.”
“No,” Andrew said. “I expected my home to be safe.”
Silence filled the room.
Marcus looked at me as though he still expected me to stand beside him.
“Liza, you’re only hearing his side.”
I held up the phone.
“These are your words.”
“I was angry.”
“For six years?”
His face tightened.
“I never meant for it to go on this long.”
Something inside me snapped.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“You do not get to rewrite this now.”
I took a slow breath.
“Every birthday, I cried for my son.”
Marcus looked away.
“Every Christmas, I wrapped presents he never opened.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I searched every crowd, every street, every stranger’s face because I hoped I might see him.”
He said nothing.
“You watched me suffer.”
Still nothing.
“You watched me blame myself.”
Andrew stood beside me, silent. He did not need to speak. The truth was already standing there with us.
Marcus finally sighed.
“I thought it would get easier.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“For you.”
I could barely believe him.
“You thought I would get over my child?”
“I thought once enough time passed, you would stop dwelling on it.”
“Dwelling on it?”
My voice rose.
“He is my son.”
“He made his choice.”
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