“It is exactly that simple.”
He began crying.
“I was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“I was scared.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“You could have told me the truth.”
“I know.”
I wiped my face.
“And the children?”
“What about them?”
“Why did Mom treat Emma and Noah like that?”
Brent didn’t answer.
“Brent.”
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Because they’re yours.”
“What does that mean?”
He took a breath.
“Mom thinks you became too much like Dad.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She says Emma has his eyes.”
I couldn’t speak.
“And Noah has his temper.”
My hands started trembling.
“She hates that.”
I looked toward the hallway.
My children.
My beautiful children.
They had done nothing.
They had never done anything.
They had simply reminded my mother of a man she had spent decades trying to erase.
And instead of facing her own anger, she had punished innocent children.
