Andrew's bedroom door was open and the room was empty. I guessed he was taking his time, clearing his mind.
Then I saw the note on his bed.
"Mother"
I love you more than anyone in the world, but I can't live like this anymore. Please don't look for me.
"I'm sorry."
"Andrew."
I remember screaming.
Marcus rushed upstairs, pretending to be as surprised as I was. In the following weeks, he played the role of the concerned father-in-law perfectly.
He took me to the police station, printed missing person posters, and even accompanied me on walks in the parks, hoping that I would see my son.
When the police reminded us that Andrew was legally an adult and had every right to leave, Marcus put his arm around my shoulders.
"We must accept their decision."
The months turned into years.
For every birthday I made Andrew's favorite chocolate cake, for every Christmas I wrapped a gift I never sent, and for every Mother's Day I stared at my phone waiting for it to ring.
It never happened.
Every time she cried, Marcus would say the same words: "You have to let it go."
Eventually I stopped talking about Andrew because all the conversations ended the same way.
"He made his decision."
These words have become a prison.
My son was now standing in front of me, looking at Marcus as if nothing had happened.
"I didn't ask you to remember the party," Andrew said. "I asked you if you remembered what happened afterward."
"I found your note."
"I know."
"I looked for you."
"I know."
Her voice broke for the first time.
"I also know why you stopped."
I had a knot in my stomach.
"What do you mean?"
Marcus crossed his arms.
"It's ridiculous."
Andrew ignored it.
You stopped because he convinced you that he didn't want me to be found.
"That's what your note said."
"No." Andrew shook his head. "My word was that you shouldn't look for me. He wasn't saying I stopped loving you."
Marcus stepped forward.
