“I’ll take his number,” I said flatly.
My mother exhaled in relief, but her face fell when she realized what I meant. I wasn’t calling for her.
I was calling for him.
“You can give him my number,” I clarified. “If he wants to talk to me, that’s his choice. And if he doesn’t want to talk to you…” I shrugged.
“That’s his choice too.”
“Rebecca, please —”
“Goodbye, Mom,” I said, and slowly closed the door.
I met Jason a week later at a quiet café across town, my heart pounding as I saw him walk in. He was tall, with dark hair like our mother’s, but his eyes were kind.
He looked nervous but when he spotted me, something in his expression softened.
“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth.
I stared at him. “You don’t have to apologize.
You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I…” he swallowed hard. “I didn’t know. She never told me.
I only found out because of Grandma’s message. I can’t believe she did that to you.”
I studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. But there was none.
He was just a kid when it happened. He hadn’t chosen this.
“You’re nothing like her, Jason.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve been so angry since I found out.
It’s like… everything I thought I knew about Mom was a lie.”
“How did you find out exactly?”
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I got this email from Grandma.
It had pictures of you, stories about you… things Mom never told me. And a letter explaining everything.”
“She was always clever,” I said, a sad smile tugging at my lips.
“Even from beyond the grave, she was looking out for us.”
“She wrote that she promised not to tell me while she was alive because she was afraid Mom would cut me off from her completely.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine being forced to make that choice. It’s so cruel.”
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