Chapter 2
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The only sound in the dining room was the ceiling fan turning above us.
I looked at Michael.
“What box?”
He wiped his cheek quickly.
“The wooden one.”
My stomach dropped.
I knew exactly which box he meant.
After Michael’s mother, Danielle, died seven years earlier, her mother had given him a cedar box filled with letters, photographs, jewelry, and small things Danielle had saved for him.
Her hospital bracelet.
A silver necklace.
A birthday card she had written before she became too sick to hold a pen.
I had never opened that box without Michael’s permission.
It belonged to him.
To his mother.
To a piece of his childhood no one could replace.
I turned toward Sarah.
“Where is it?”
She crossed her arms.
“I moved it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.”
Michael spoke behind me.
“She remembers.”
Sarah glared at him.
“Stop lying.”
His face crumpled.
I stepped in front of him again.
“Do not call him a liar.”
“Marcus, you have no idea what he’s been doing lately.”
“Then explain it.”
She exhaled dramatically.
“Michael has been obsessed with Danielle.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He keeps pictures everywhere. He reads her letters. He acts like this family is temporary because his real mother is dead.”
My hands curled into fists.
“He misses his mother.”
“He was nine when she died.”
“So?”
“So at some point, we move forward.”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“Move forward?”
Sarah pointed toward Michael.
“I have spent six years trying to make this family work while he compares everything I do to a dead woman.”
Michael’s face twisted.
“I never compared you to her.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
Sarah touched her chest.
“I feel it every day.”
I stared at her.
“You made a child responsible for your insecurity.”
“I did not.”
“You took his mother’s belongings.”
“I moved a box.”
“Where?”
She did not answer.
I took one step closer.
“Where is it?”
Jordan suddenly spoke.
“Mom.”
Sarah turned sharply.
“Stay out of this.”
Jordan looked miserable.
I had known him since he was ten.
He was not cruel.
Spoiled sometimes.
Self-centered.
But I had never believed he hated Michael.
Now he stared at his plate as though he wished he could disappear.
I looked at him.
“Jordan, do you know where the box is?”
Sarah slammed her hand on the table.
“I said leave him out of it.”
Michael whispered, “She sold some of it.”
Everything inside me went cold.
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He was crying now.
“She sold Mom’s necklace.”
“No.”
Sarah’s voice came too quickly.
I looked at her.
“Did you?”
“It was sitting in a box for years.”
My vision blurred.
“Did you sell Danielle’s necklace?”
“It was just jewelry.”
Michael made a broken sound behind me.
I had to grip the back of a chair.
The necklace was not expensive.
Danielle’s father had given it to her when she graduated high school.
A simple silver chain with a small blue stone.
She wore it on our first date.
She wore it when Michael was born.
Near the end, she asked me to make sure he received it.
Sarah knew all of that.
I had told her.
“You sold it.”
She lifted her chin.
“We needed money.”
“For what?”
She looked at Jordan.
My stomach turned.
“For what, Sarah?”
Jordan stood.
“Mom, tell him.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
His voice shook.
“I didn’t know where the money came from.”
I stared at him.
“What money?”
Jordan swallowed.
“My basketball camp.”
The elite summer camp.
Three weeks in North Carolina.
Five thousand dollars.
Sarah had told me her parents paid for it as a birthday gift.
I looked at her.
“You sold my dead wife’s jewelry to pay for Jordan’s camp?”
“I was going to replace it.”
“With what?”
She said nothing.
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“How much did you get?”
“Marcus.”
“How much?”
“About twelve hundred.”
Michael gasped.
I turned.
“Michael?”
His eyes widened.
“She sold more.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
My chest tightened.
“What else?”
Michael looked terrified.
“There were earrings.”
I remembered.
Danielle’s pearl earrings.
A gift from her mother.
“And Mom’s watch.”
I looked at Sarah.
“You sold everything?”
“Not everything.”
That answer nearly broke me.
I stepped away because I did not trust my voice.
Jordan pushed his chair back.
“Mom, why?”
Sarah turned toward him.
“Because I wanted you to have opportunities.”
“By taking his stuff?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I do.”
Jordan looked at Michael.
For the first time that evening, shame covered his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Michael said nothing.
Jordan turned back to his mother.
“You told me Grandpa paid.”
Sarah’s eyes filled.
“I was trying to take care of you.”
“You were stealing.”
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
“Then don’t act like this.”
Sarah stared at her own son as though he had slapped her.
I walked toward the kitchen counter and grabbed my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the police.”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“You sold property that did not belong to you.”
“Marcus, stop.”
“Where is the rest of the box?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Now.”
She shook her head.
I dialed.
Sarah rushed toward me.
Michael flinched.
That was all I needed to see.
I moved between them.
“Back up.”
Her hands dropped.
“Fine.”
She started crying.
“I made mistakes.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You made choices.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“I was angry.”
“At a child?”
“At always feeling second.”
The confession hung between us.
I stared at her.
“Second to who?”
“To Danielle.”
My mouth fell open.
“She’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Then how could you possibly be competing with her?”
Sarah laughed through tears.
“Because this house is full of her.”
I looked around.
There were three photographs of Danielle left in the entire house.
All in Michael’s room.
I had removed most of them after marrying Sarah because she said she wanted space to build our own life.
I suddenly felt ashamed.
Not of remembering Danielle.
Of how much I had erased to make Sarah comfortable.
“You knew I was a widower.”
“I thought eventually you would let her go.”
“I did let her go.”
“No, you didn’t.”
She pointed upstairs.
“Your son made sure of that.”
Michael’s face crumpled.
I had heard enough.
“Pack a bag.”
Sarah stared at me.
“You’re choosing him over me.”
“He is my child.”
“And I’m your wife.”
“A wife should not make me choose.”
She went silent.
Then Jordan spoke.
“Dad?”
I looked at him.
He had called me Dad for almost four years.
His eyes were full of tears.
“What happens to me?”
That question cut through my anger.
Because none of this was his fault.
I walked toward him.
“You’re not being punished for what your mother did.”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“So he stays and I go?”
I looked at Jordan.
“That depends on what he wants and what’s legally appropriate. But I’m not throwing a sixteen-year-old into the street.”
Jordan’s chin trembled.
Sarah looked betrayed.
It was almost unbelievable.
“You’d keep my own son from me?”
“No.”
“I’m asking you to leave tonight because I need space and because Michael clearly does not feel safe with you here.”
Her expression changed at that word.
“Safe?”
Michael looked down.
I noticed.
“What else happened?”
Sarah immediately said, “Nothing.”
I ignored her.
“Michael.”
He began twisting the sleeve of his hoodie.
“What else?”
His breathing changed.
“Dad, can we talk upstairs?”
My anger disappeared.
Fear replaced it.
“Yes.”
Sarah stepped forward.
“No. If he has accusations, he can say them here.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
Then I followed my son upstairs.
Inside his room, Michael closed the door.
He walked to his desk.
Moved several books.
Then pulled out a cracked old phone I had never seen.
“What is that?”
He handed it to me.
“Proof.”
My stomach dropped.
“Proof of what?”
Michael looked toward the door.
May you like
Then back at me.
“That she’s been taking money from you too.”
