Andrew looked at me. For one awful second, I thought he was asking me to choose.
I should have stood up.
I should have walked out with him. Instead, I stayed in my chair, stunned into silence.
Andrew left the dining room, ran upstairs, and a few minutes later, I heard the front door close. I thought he just needed air. I had no idea it would be the last time I’d see my son for years.
I still remembered every minute after that.
The guests left one by one, each offering awkward smiles and quiet apologies, as though they felt responsible for what had happened.
I cleaned plates I couldn’t remember serving while Marcus sat in the living room, watching television as if he’d done nothing wrong.
“Are you going to apologize?” I asked.
He didn’t look away from the screen.
“For telling the truth?”
