Chapter 2
I stared at Andrew.
“What do you mean?”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The wedding was supposed to be happening.
Sophia was supposed to be standing beside him.
Instead, my son stood in my hallway looking as if someone had stripped away thirty years in a single afternoon.
“Dad’s letter,” he said.
He held it out.
“I read it.”
I looked at the envelope.
Thomas had sealed it twenty years earlier.
I had imagined Andrew reading it after his wedding.
Maybe smiling.
Maybe crying.
Never like this.
“What did it say?”
Andrew laughed once.
A broken sound.
“You don’t know?”
“I never opened it.”
His face tightened.
He looked down.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You respected his privacy even after he died.”
I said nothing.
Andrew walked into the living room.
He knew the house better than anyone.
Same small fireplace.
Same old sofa.
Same photographs.
But he looked around like he had returned to a place he had been pretending not to remember.
He handed me the letter.
I unfolded it.
Andrew,
If you are reading this, I probably did not get enough years to teach you everything I wanted.
Your mother will try to do the work of two parents.
Do not let her.
She will give until there is nothing left and call it love.
Love her enough to stop her.
My eyes blurred.
I continued.
Success will introduce you to people who make you ashamed of simple things.
A small house.
Old clothes.
A mother who worked with her hands.
If that happens, remember this:
There is nothing shameful about where love kept you alive.
The shame would be forgetting who carried you there.
I stopped.
I could not read the rest.
Andrew took over.
His voice cracked.
“If you ever become successful enough to believe your mother embarrasses you, then whatever success you achieved has made you poorer, not richer.”
He covered his mouth.
I sat down.
For twenty years, Thomas had been gone.
Yet somehow, he had reached into that day and spoken directly to our son.
Andrew sank into the chair opposite me.
“I sent you away.”
“Yes.”
“I did exactly what he warned me not to do.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words were immediate.
I wanted them to heal me.
They did not.
Not yet.
“Where is Sophia?”
“At the hotel.”
“Did the wedding happen?”
“No.”
My heart tightened.
“What?”
“She refused.”
I stared.
Andrew rubbed his eyes.
“When Mr. Collins said you paid for everything, Sophia asked me whether it was true.”
“And?”
“I lied.”
Of course.
“I said you only helped with a few deposits.”
He looked sick.
“Then her father asked to see the payment records.”
“You lied again?”
“Yes.”
Pain moved through me.
The wedding insult had been public.
But this was deeper.
Andrew had built an entire false identity around himself.
“What happened?”
“Sophia opened your envelope.”
I looked up sharply.
“What?”
“I was holding it. She asked what it was. I told her you left it.”
He swallowed.
“She said if I was too ashamed to let you stay, I didn’t deserve privacy about whatever you left behind.”
That sounded like Sophia.
“What did she say after reading it?”
“That she couldn’t marry me until she understood who I actually was.”
I closed my eyes.
Part of me hurt for him.
Another part whispered that consequences were not cruelty.
“What about the wedding?”
“The hotel gave us an hour.”
“To pay?”
“Yes.”
“Did Sophia’s father pay?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Andrew looked embarrassed.
“Because he said if I wanted to impress everyone so badly, I should pay for my own performance.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“What happened to the guests?”
“They left.”
The wedding I had spent months planning ended before the ceremony began.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
Andrew leaned forward.
“Mom, I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“How much did you spend?”
I looked away.
“Mom.”
“About seventy-eight thousand.”
His face went completely white.
“Seventy-eight?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“That’s my business.”
“No.”
He stood.
“That’s exactly the problem. You make everything your business when it’s for me.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to lecture me about giving.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
“But please tell me.”
I did.
The rental property.
Thirty-four thousand after taxes and remaining debt.
Twenty thousand from investments.
Fourteen thousand from savings.
The rest from money Thomas had left specifically for home repairs.
Andrew looked physically ill.
“You sold Dad’s property?”
“It was mine.”
“For my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“You said the tenant moved.”
“He did.”
“You never said you sold it.”
“You never asked.”
That landed.
Andrew sat again.
“I thought you had more money.”
“Why?”
“You never said you were struggling.”
“I wasn’t struggling.”
Not exactly.
I could still pay my bills.
But my safety cushion had almost disappeared.
“What is left?”
“Enough.”
“How much?”
“Andrew.”
“How much?”
“About twelve thousand in liquid savings.”
His face collapsed.
“You spent almost everything.”
“For you.”
“Why?”
I looked at him.
Because he was my child.
Because giving had always been easier than watching him worry.
Because after Thomas died, money became the tool I used whenever I could not protect Andrew from life.
“I thought it would make you happy.”
He cried.
“I sent you away from something you paid for.”
“Yes.”
“I called you embarrassing.”
“Yes.”
“Stop saying yes.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I don’t know.”
He stood and paced.
Then his phone rang.
Sophia.
He stared at the screen.
“Answer.”
He did.
“Hi.”
Her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Where are you?”
“My mom’s.”
A pause.
“Good.”
Andrew looked confused.
“Sophia—”
“I’m not ready to talk about us.”
His face fell.
“But I need to talk to Margaret.”
He handed me the phone.
I hesitated.
“Hello?”
“Margaret?”
Her voice broke.
“I am so sorry.”
“You didn’t send me away.”
“No, but I didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Sophia.”
“I should have asked who was paying. I should have asked why you weren’t included in planning.”
I sat quietly.
She continued.
“I thought Andrew wanted to handle everything because he was proud.”
“He was.”
“Not in a good way.”
No.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
I looked at Andrew.
He stared at the floor.
“Yes.”
“Without Andrew.”
His head lifted.
I almost laughed.
“Yes.”
After the call, Andrew looked wounded.
“That sounded ominous.”
“You created ominous.”
“I know.”
His phone rang again.
This time his office.
He ignored it.
Then another call came.
Again.
Finally he answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then stood straighter.
“No, that can’t be right.”
I waited.
He looked at me.
“Call me back.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
He looked stunned.
“One of my biggest clients just terminated their account.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“Mom…”
“What?”
“The client is Sophia’s father.”
I stared.
Andrew laughed bitterly.
“So I humiliated you to impress people whose respect I never had.”
His words stayed in the room.
Then another message arrived.
He read it.
His face went pale again.
“What now?”
“My managing partner wants to meet tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
May you like
Andrew looked at me.
“Apparently someone sent him a video from the wedding.”
