Chapter 3
Noah stared at the phone.
I stared at him.
Jason’s warning seemed to hang in the kitchen long after he stopped speaking.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
There was silence on the other end.
Then Jason said, “Sarah?”
The sound of my name in his voice pulled me backward nine years.
Back to cramped apartments.
Broken promises.
The smell of beer.
Apologies at two in the morning.
A young version of myself crying in a bathroom while Noah slept in the next room.
I hardened instantly.
“Yes.”
Jason breathed out.
“I wasn’t expecting to talk to you tonight.”
“Neither was I.”
“Are you okay?”
“Don’t.”
He went silent.
“Don’t come back into our lives and start acting like you get to ask if I’m okay.”
“You’re right.”
The quick answer surprised me.
Jason continued.
“I’m not trying to pretend the past didn’t happen.”
“Good.”
“I know I hurt you.”
“You did.”
“And I know I hurt Noah.”
Noah looked down.
I crossed my arms.
“Then explain what you just said about Mark.”
Jason hesitated.
“I don’t know how much you know.”
“I know about the letters.”
Another silence.
“The court papers?”
“Yes.”
Jason cursed quietly.
Noah looked at me.
I asked, “Why did you tell Noah not to leave me alone with Mark?”
“Because Mark has been calling me.”
My chest tightened.
“Recently?”
“For years.”
Noah’s head snapped up.
“How many years?”
“At first, every few months. Then less often. Recently, more.”
“What did he say?”
Jason breathed heavily.
“He wanted to know why I kept trying.”
“That doesn’t sound dangerous.”
“It wasn’t just that.”
“Then what?”
“He said if I came near you, he’d make sure I regretted it.”
My stomach turned.
Noah whispered, “He threatened you?”
“Yes.”
I paced away from the table.
Jason continued.
“Last week he called from a number I didn’t recognize. He told me Noah didn’t want me. Said Noah was happy. Said I was selfish for reopening old wounds.”
“That sounds exactly like Mark,” I whispered.
“But then his tone changed.”
I stopped.
“He said if I came to the house, he couldn’t promise what would happen.”
Noah went pale.
I glanced toward the front windows.
Mark had been gone less than ten minutes.
I suddenly wondered whether he had actually left the neighborhood.
“Jason, where are you?”
“A hotel off Route 9.”
“Stay there.”
“I am.”
“Do not come here tonight.”
“I won’t.”
Noah looked disappointed, but I shook my head.
“Tomorrow,” I told him.
Jason said, “Sarah, I didn’t come here to cause trouble.”
“You already caused trouble nine years ago.”
“I know.”
That answer again.
No excuses.
I almost hated it.
The Jason I remembered always had excuses.
Work was stressful.
His father was sick.
I was too demanding.
The rent was too high.
The bar was on the way home.
There was always a reason.
This man sounded different.
But nine years could teach anyone how to sound different.
“I want the truth tomorrow,” I said.
“You’ll get it.”
“All of it.”
“Yes.”
“Even the parts that make you look bad.”
“Especially those.”
I looked at Noah.
His face was hopeful.
Too hopeful.
That frightened me.
“Ten tomorrow morning,” I said. “Public place.”
Jason agreed.
We chose a diner near the courthouse.
Then he asked, “Can I say something to Noah before we hang up?”
I handed the phone to my son.
Noah took it.
“Yeah?”
Jason’s voice softened.
“I know you probably have a thousand questions.”
“More than that.”
“I’ll answer every one.”
“Did you really write all those letters?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come here yourself?”
The question hit harder than anything else.
Jason paused.
“Because I was afraid.”
Noah’s face fell.
“Of Mark?”
“No.”
Jason inhaled.
“Of you.”
Noah frowned.
“I didn’t know what you’d been told about me. I didn’t know if seeing me would make things worse. I kept thinking I had to earn the right first.”
“And did you?”
“I don’t know.”
Noah wiped his eyes.
“But I finally realized I’d spent years waiting for permission nobody was ever going to give me.”
Noah swallowed.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, son.”
Noah closed his eyes.
Son.
I could see that one word reach a place inside him Mark’s lies had kept empty.
“See you tomorrow.”
The call ended.
For the next hour, Noah and I sat at the table going through the box.
Every letter made me angrier.
Jason had remembered Noah’s birthdays.
He knew Noah had once loved dinosaurs because I had told Jason’s mother before she died.
He knew Noah played football because he had apparently seen a newspaper photograph online.
One letter congratulated him after his middle school team won a county championship.
Another told him how proud he was.
Noah read that one twice.
At the bottom of the box, we found returned envelopes.
Many had handwritten notes across the front.
RETURN TO SENDER.
NO CONTACT REQUESTED.
Some were signed with my initials.
S.M.
I had never written them.
Noah placed one on the table.
“He pretended to be you.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not knowing.”
“You couldn’t know if he hid them.”
“I should have listened tonight.”
Noah’s face tightened.
I reached toward him but stopped before touching him.
“Can I?”
He looked at my hand.
Then nodded.
I gently touched his cheek.
The redness from my slap had faded.
The shame hadn’t.
“I will never do that again.”
He looked at me.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
“I shouldn’t have screamed at Mark.”
“You had every reason to be furious.”
“I still shouldn’t have said it like that.”
The fact that he was worrying about his own behavior after everything Mark had done nearly broke me.
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“So are you.”
“I am.”
“Are you going to divorce him?”
The question came too soon.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Mom.”
“Noah, I found out an hour ago that my husband has been lying to us for years.”
“What else do you need to know?”
I looked down at the forged court document.
“A lot.”
Noah pushed back from the table.
“So he can just explain it away?”
“No.”
“Because he always explains everything.”
“What does that mean?”
Noah froze.
I saw it.
A wall coming up.
“Noah.”
“Nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Mark and I have been fighting more lately.”
“You never told me.”
“You work a lot.”
The sentence wasn’t an accusation.
That made it worse.
“What were you fighting about?”
“My phone. Football. Grades.”
“Your grades are good.”
“I know.”
“He said they could be better.”
I frowned.
“How much better?”
“I got a B-plus in chemistry.”
My mouth fell open.
“He punished you for that?”
“Took my phone for a week.”
“He told me you lost it because you missed curfew.”
Noah gave a humorless laugh.
“I missed curfew by eight minutes.”
I stared at him.
“That was the same week?”
“Yeah.”
I felt another piece of my marriage crack.
“What else?”
Noah rubbed the back of his neck.
“He started checking my messages.”
“Why?”
“He said because he paid for the phone.”
“Did you tell him he could?”
“No.”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
I relaxed slightly.
Then Noah said, “But sometimes he grabbed me.”
My stomach dropped again.
“Where?”
“Arm. Shoulder.”
“How hard?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hard enough to hurt?”
He looked away.
“Noah.”
“Sometimes.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His face hardened.
“Would you have believed me?”
The slap answered for me.
I sat back down.
He saw the answer on my face too.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Noah’s anger softened.
“He wasn’t always like that.”
“When did it start?”
“Maybe last year.”
“What changed?”
“I started asking about Dad.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Every time I asked, Mark got weird.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That Jason chose alcohol over us. That he probably had another family. That some people don’t deserve second chances.”
Jason had chosen alcohol over us once.
That part was true.
But Mark had turned a painful truth into a weapon.
“I’m calling a lawyer tomorrow.”
Noah looked at me.
“For divorce?”
“For everything.”
I gathered the forged papers.
“If Mark submitted this to a court, I need to know exactly what happened.”
Noah looked toward the front window.
“Do you think he’ll come back tonight?”
“I told him not to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I glanced at the locked door.
“No.”
But my voice lacked certainty.
At eleven thirty, I sent Mark a message.
Do not come home tonight. Noah and I need space. We will talk tomorrow.
He didn’t respond.
At midnight, I checked the doors again.
At twelve thirty, Noah went upstairs.
I made him lock his bedroom door.
“Mom, that’s dramatic.”
“Humor me.”
He did.
I stayed downstairs with every light on.
At 1:07 a.m., headlights swept across the living room wall.
My heart stopped.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Mark.
I stood.
He remained inside the car for almost a minute.
Then he got out.
He walked toward the front door.
I didn’t open it.
He tried his key.
The lock turned.
I had forgotten the deadbolt could be opened from outside.
The door swung inward.
Mark stepped inside.
He froze when he saw me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I live here.”
“I told you not to come back tonight.”
“I needed clothes.”
“At one in the morning?”
He shut the door.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“That isn’t my problem.”
“Sarah, please.”
He looked exhausted.
His eyes were red.
For a fraction of a second, I saw the man who had held my hand through my mother’s funeral.
The man who made pancakes every Sunday.
Then I saw the forged signature.
“You need to leave.”
“I will.”
He took a step forward.
I stepped back.
The pain on his face was immediate.
“You’re afraid of me?”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“Did you grab Noah?”
His face changed.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Answer me.”
“He’s a teenager. We’ve had arguments.”
“Did you grab him hard enough to hurt?”
“I restrained him once.”
“Once?”
“Maybe twice.”
My hands began shaking.
“You told me you never laid a hand on him.”
“I didn’t hit him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Mark rubbed his forehead.
“He was out of control.”
“Noah?”
“Yes.”
The boy who apologized to teachers when someone else bumped into him.
The boy who cried after accidentally injuring another player.
The boy who still texted me when he arrived anywhere because he knew I worried.
“Get out.”
“You’re taking his side automatically.”
I almost laughed.
“That is exactly what I failed to do earlier.”
“Jason is manipulating him.”
“Jason wasn’t here when you grabbed him.”
Mark stared at me.
Then quietly asked, “Did you talk to Jason?”
I didn’t answer.
His eyes sharpened.
“You did.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It absolutely is.”
“No, Mark. You gave up the right to manage my conversations.”
His jaw clenched.
“What did he tell you?”
“Leave.”
“What did he tell you about me?”
“Leave.”
“He’s lying.”
“Then explain the court document.”
Mark went silent.
I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Go.”
He stood there.
For one frightening second, he didn’t move.
Then footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Noah.
He stood halfway down, holding his phone.
“Mom?”
Mark looked up at him.
Noah stopped.
The tension between them was immediate.
Mark whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Noah’s expression didn’t change.
“Then go.”
Mark flinched.
“This is my family too.”
Noah replied, “Families don’t hide each other’s fathers.”
Mark’s face twisted.
“You think Jason is some hero now?”
“I never said that.”
“You have no idea what he did.”
“Then tell me.”
Mark looked at me.
I nodded.
“Yes. Tell him.”
He laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes,” Noah said.
Mark stepped farther into the room.
“Fine.”
He pointed at the envelopes on the table.
“Your father didn’t disappear because I told him to.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“He disappeared because eight years ago, he took money from your mother’s account.”
My heart skipped.
“What?”
Mark turned to me.
“You never knew.”
“No.”
“Three thousand dollars.”
“That account barely had three thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“How would you know?”
Mark’s expression changed.
Too late.
I stared at him.
“How did you know how much was in my account eight years ago?”
Silence.
A memory surfaced.
My debit card had once stopped working.
I thought it was a bank error.
There had been missing money.
Not three thousand.
Five hundred.
Then another withdrawal.
I had blamed Jason.
He denied it.
We had one of our worst fights.
That was shortly before I ended things with him.
I looked at Mark.
“You knew because you were helping me with my bills back then.”
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
Mark had been my coworker.
My friend.
The person I confided in.
He had helped me change passwords after I accused Jason of stealing from me.
“You said Jason stole it.”
“He did.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Did he admit it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because who else would it have been?”
I stared at him.
Noah did too.
Mark’s breathing changed.
I whispered, “Was it you?”
His head jerked back.
“What?”
“The missing money.”
“Sarah, that’s insane.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
He looked offended.
Almost convincingly.
Then Noah spoke.
“Mom.”
I turned.
He was staring at his phone.
“What?”
“I searched Dad’s name.”
“Jason?”
“No.”
He slowly raised his eyes toward Mark.
“Mark.”
My stomach tightened.
Noah turned the screen toward me.
It was an old local news article.
Eight years old.
The headline read:
LOCAL BANK EMPLOYEE QUESTIONED IN CUSTOMER ACCOUNT INVESTIGATION.
Underneath was a photograph.
Mark.
My husband.
The man who had convinced me Jason stole from me.
The man who had helped me change every password afterward.
May you like
Mark stared at the screen.
And for the first time that night, he looked truly terrified.
