It was stormy, the sky heavy, wind slapping the windows. I came home from a double shift, soaked through, bones aching. I kicked the door shut, thinking only of dry clothes and hot tea.
But the house was silent.
Not Noah’s music, not Liam reheating leftovers. Just silence—thick and unsettling.
They sat on the couch, tense, shoulders square, hands in their laps like they were preparing for a funeral.
“Noah? Liam? What’s wrong?”
“Mom, we need to talk,” Liam said, his voice unfamiliar.
I sank into the armchair, damp uniform clinging.
“Okay, boys. I’m listening.”
“We can’t see you anymore, Mom. We have to move out… we’re done here,” Liam said.
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke? Are you recording a prank? I swear, boys, I’m too tired for stunts.”
“Mom, we met our dad. We met Evan,” Noah said.
The name hit like ice water.
“He’s the director of our program,” Noah explained.
“He found us after orientation,” Liam added. “He saw our last name, looked into our files. He said he’d been waiting for a chance to be part of our lives.”
“And you believe him?” I asked, staring at my sons like strangers.
“He told us you kept us away,” Liam said tightly. “That he tried to help, but you shut him out.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered. “I was 17. I told Evan I was pregnant, and he promised me the world. The next morning, he was gone. No call, no text. Just gone.”
“Stop,” Liam snapped, standing. “You say he lied. But how do we know you’re not lying?”
It broke my heart.
