Instead, I stood there terrified that if I asked the wrong question, he would disappear again.
Silence settled between us until the front door opened.
Marcus walked in carrying a paper bag from the bakery. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Andrew.
For the first time since our marriage began, I saw real fear on my husband's face.
The bag slipped out of her hands.
Buns scattered on the ground.
"You," Marcus whispered.
Andrew didn't move.
"Tell him."
Marcus recovered quickly.
"I don't know what game you're playing."
"Tell him."
I have nothing to say.
Andrew reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.
"I hoped you would make the right decision."
Marcus's face lost what little color it had left.
"What is this?" I asked.
No one answered.
Instead, they looked at each other like two men who had been waiting for years to finish the same conversation.
"I think you should leave," Marcus said.
Andrew let out a bitter laugh.
"You've been trying to make me go for years."
I looked from one to the other.
"What's going on?"
Andrew finally turned towards me.
"Mom, do you remember my eighteenth birthday?"
The question hit me like a punch.
How could I have forgotten?
It started very well.
She had spent weeks organizing the party because she wanted Andrew to feel celebrated.
She had just graduated from high school. Despite all their arguments, I kept hoping that time would soften them both.
Andrew came downstairs wearing black pants, polished boots, and a loose burgundy blouse that he loved.
He seemed nervous.
I hugged him.
