“For six years?”
He frowned.
“I never meant for it to go that far.”
I felt something inside me break.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“You don’t get to rewrite this.”
I took a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
“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 face in every crowd because I hoped I’d see him again.”
His jaw tightened.
“You watched me suffer.”
He didn’t answer.
“You watched me blame myself.”
Still nothing.
“And every single time I cried, you told me to let him go.”
Andrew remained quiet beside me. He didn’t need to say anything; the truth was already standing between us.
Marcus finally sighed.
“I thought it would get easier.”
My head snapped toward him.
“What?”
“For you.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I thought once enough time passed, you’d stop dwelling on him.”
“Dwelling on him?”
My voice rose.
“He’s my son.”
“He made his choice.”
“No.” I stepped closer until we were almost face-to-face. “You made it for him.”
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“I gave him a push.”
“You lied to an 18-year-old who already believed he was a burden.”
“I gave him an opportunity to start over.”
“You manipulated a grieving child.”
“He was legally an adult.”
I stepped closer.
“He was still my child.”
The words echoed through the room.
Marcus looked at Andrew.
“You’ve done well for yourself.”
Andrew didn’t respond.
“You came back stronger. In a way, maybe leaving was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
I stared at my husband in disbelief.
Even now.
Even after everything.
He couldn’t admit what he’d done.
Andrew spoke again.
“The note I left behind, when I said ‘Please don’t look for me,’ I meant for a few days.”
I looked up at him.
“I was hurt. I needed space.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I was sitting at the bus station when his messages started coming.”
My chest tightened.
“I read them over and over.”
He looked at Marcus.
“I kept thinking, ‘Maybe he’s right.'”
Marcus folded his arms but said nothing.
“I thought about coming home.”
Andrew’s voice cracked.
“I even stood up once.”
He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.
“Then another message came.”
He unlocked the phone again and scrolled.
“There.”
I read the message.
“If you come back, she’ll choose me. Don’t make her say it to your face.”
I covered my mouth.
“I believed him.”
Andrew looked at me.
“I couldn’t survive hearing those words from you.”
“You never would have.”
“I know that now.” He took a shaky breath. “But I didn’t know it then.”
I closed my eyes.
Every moment of guilt I’d carried for over half a decade became something else.
Rage.
I turned toward Marcus.
“You watched me fall apart.”
He remained silent.
“You let me believe my own son abandoned me.”
“I thought it was kinder.”
“Kinder?”
I almost laughed.
“There is nothing kind about convincing a child his mother is better off without him.”
Marcus finally lost his composure. “I was tired.”
His voice grew louder. “I was tired of every argument, of every neighbor talking, of wondering what people thought when they saw him.”
“There it is,” Andrew said quietly.
Marcus ignored him.
“I wanted a normal family.”
I shook my head.
“You had one.”
He frowned.
“You just refused to accept it.”
The room fell silent again.
Then I walked to the hallway closet.
Marcus looked confused.
“What are you doing?”
I opened the closet and pulled out the large suitcase we’d used for vacations years ago.
Without a word, I carried it into the living room and set it at Marcus’s feet.
He looked from the suitcase to me.
“Liza.”
“You wanted my son to leave.”
I pointed at the suitcase.
“Now it’s your turn.”
His face drained of color.
