I moved toward him.
He backed away.
“Don’t, Mom. Please.”
I stopped.
His eyes were wet, but his expression was furious. “I wanted him to suffer. That’s the truth. Every time you got sick, I thought, good, I hope he knows. Every time you asked whether he’d called, I thought, I hope he dies alone.”
The room went still.
Jonah looked toward the projected image of the empty video menu. “And he did.”
“Jonah.” Wade’s voice was soft.
“Don’t you dare comfort me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
That halted him.
Wade stood. “I was going to tell you he did not die believing you hated him.”
Jonah stared.
Wade’s throat worked. “He knew.”
“How?”
“Because he asked.”
“Asked what?”
“What you were saying about him.”
Jonah’s face twisted. “And you told him?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Which truth?”
