“Andrew?”
He swallowed but didn’t smile.
“Hi, Mom.”
A sob caught in my throat.
Six years.
I had imagined this moment every single day. I had dreamed about seeing him at the grocery store, at church, even walking down the sidewalk. Sometimes I imagined him older. Sometimes I imagined him looking exactly as he had the night he disappeared.
But never like this.
I rushed toward him with my arms open.
“My baby…”
“Stop,” he said.
His voice wasn’t angry.
It was tired. He lifted one hand, keeping a careful distance between us.
“I want him to tell you the truth right now.”
I froze.
“What?”
Andrew looked past me into the house.
“Where’s Marcus?”
The warmth that had flooded my chest disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“He’s out walking.”
“I’ll wait.”
Without asking permission, he stepped inside.
I closed the door behind him, still staring.
His clothes were nothing like the colorful skirts and soft sweaters he had loved wearing as a teenager. There wasn’t a trace of makeup on his face. Everything about him looked different.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he looked at me. “People keep looking at my clothes instead of hearing what I’m saying.”
Heat rushed into my face.
“I’m sorry.”
“I came back for one reason.”
