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He didn’t look at me.
“Nothing, Mom.”
His hands started shaking. “I can’t talk about it.”
“I’m not allowed,” he whispered.
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean, you’re not allowed?”
He turned to me, and I saw fear in his eyes.
“Mom, please don’t ask me. I can’t. I just… I can’t.”
He started crying, and when I tried to hold him, he pulled away.
That’s when I knew: my son was scared and guilty.
Three days later, I came home early from work. My meeting had been canceled, and I’d texted Shawn to let him know, but he was supposedly in back-to-back calls and hadn’t responded.
The moment I walked through the door, I heard voices. I froze in the entryway, coat half off.
Steven and Doris were in the living room.
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