“She trusted you,” Grandma Ruth whispered.
“And I raised them. Fed them. Put up with them. That’s worth more than any letter their mother scribbled from a hospital bed,” Clara laughed. A short, satisfied laugh. “Elena always got everything. The looks, the husband, the babies everyone fawned over. For once, I got to keep something of hers. And those boys never knew the difference.”
Our mother had a name, and that name was Elena.
I don’t remember leaving. I made it to my car and sat behind the wheel for a long time before my hand could turn the key.
Our mother had a name, and that name was Elena.
She hadn’t abandoned us. She had been sick. She had begged her sister for help, and her sister had taken everything.
I drove home with the windows down because I couldn’t get enough air. Every traffic light blurred into a soft watercolor that I, of all people, should have been able to name.
When I got inside, I sat on the floor of my living room and called Noah. He picked up on the second ring, half laughing about something on his television.
“Eric? You okay? Did Clara like the flowers?”
I closed my eyes and felt 20 years of belief peel away in clean strips.
“Noah.”
“What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
“I need you at Grandma Ruth’s house first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t tell her anything.”
“Eric, what happened?”
I closed my eyes and felt 20 years of belief peel away in clean strips.
“Our mother didn’t abandon us. Clara lied. And I think Josh knew something too.”
Noah went silent for so long I thought the call had dropped. Then he let out one stunned breath and said, “I’ll be there.”
When she saw us, her expression crumpled.
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