His chin trembled. “Where am I supposed to go?”
He sobbed.
I laughed once, sharp.
“That’s what I had to figure out at 17,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Don’t do this,” he said. “We have a life. A child. Please.”
“I had a right to know who I was choosing. You lied on day one. Everything after grew out of that lie.”
I went to our bedroom and pulled out a suitcase.
That time, I wasn’t a scared teenager.
My mom was silent, tears on her face.
I packed for myself and our son. Clothes. Important papers. His favorite stuffed dinosaur.
Our son was at a friend’s place.
On the drive over, I practiced what I’d say. “Hey, buddy, we’re going to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a bit.”
He’d never even met them.
When I came back out with the suitcase, my husband looked wrecked. My mom was silent, tears on her face.
I set the suitcase by the door.
He was excited in the way only kids can be.
“I loved you,” I said to him. “More than was healthy. I gave up my family, my future, my education. I never regretted it. Not once. Because I thought you were honest with me.”
“I love you,” he choked.
“Love without truth is nothing.”
