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.
