I agreed with a nod, though dread pooled in my stomach like cold lead. My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase. I wanted to speak the truth—to shout it, to finally tell her that the boy she thought of as family had been my greatest nightmare. That Marcus had orchestrated the very trauma that had haunted me for years, broken me down piece by piece, only to swoop in and pretend to rescue me.
But when I opened my mouth, different words came out.
“Mom... do you love him? Marcus' dad, I mean.”
She looked surprised by the sudden question, but her face soon softened. “Of course, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
Her voice radiated joy and certainty. It made my heart ache.
She had found joy again, a second chance at love after years of hardship. And if I told her the truth—if I revealed what her stepson had done to me—it would shatter that happiness completely.
Her world. Her marriage. Our family.
So I swallowed the truth and let it die on my tongue.
Marcus had taken everything from me. But I wouldn’t let him take this from her.
I squeezed her hand gently and forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re happy, Mom. Truly.”
She beamed, love and pride in her eyes.