Chapter 3
The name hit me like a punch to the gut.
Victoria.
My dad’s second wife, 10 years younger than him, who’d moved into our house six months after my mom died.
She’d always hated Evelyn.
Called her “trailer trash” behind her back, told my dad I was too good for a girl whose mom worked two jobs just to keep the lights on.
I’d thought she was just a snob.
I never thought she was capable of this.
“What did she do?” I asked, my voice cold.
Evelyn closed her eyes for a second, like she was forcing herself to go back to that day.
“It was two weeks before you came home from basic,” she said, her voice flat, like she was reading from a script she’d memorized. “She showed up at my mom’s trailer at 7 a.m. Wore a fur coat, even though it was 60 degrees out. Told me we needed to talk.”
She paused, swallowing hard.
“Said she’d found out I was pregnant. That I was carrying your baby. And if I didn’t leave town that day, and never contact you again, she’d make sure you never came home at all.”
Liam’s grip on her hand tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.
“What does that mean?” he asked, quiet.
“Said she had friends on the base at Fort Lewis,” Evelyn said, tears spilling over again. “Said she’d plant drugs in your duffel. Get you dishonorably discharged. Put a felony on your record so you’d never get a good job, never be able to do anything with your life. Said you’d end up just like my dad, drunk and in and out of jail, and it would be all my fault for trapping you with a baby.”
I felt sick.
I’d served four years. Done two tours. Come home with a Purple Heart and a head full of bad dreams, and I’d never known any of this.
She’d been 17. Scared. Pregnant. And Victoria had threatened to ruin my life to get rid of her.
“She gave me $5,000,” Evelyn went on. “Told me to take it, get on a bus, and never come back. Said if I ever told you, or tried to contact you, she’d follow through on her threat. And I believed her. Your dad was already sick by then, she ran everything in the house. She had money, she had connections. I had nothing. Just a baby growing inside me and a mom who could barely pay her own rent.”
She looked at Liam, her voice softening.
“I couldn’t let her ruin you. You were going to be something. I knew it even then. So I left. Changed my name to Eve Miller. Moved from town to town, worked three jobs at a time to keep us fed. Never stayed anywhere long enough for anyone to find us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I got out?” I asked, and I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. “I came home. I looked for you. I asked everyone in town where you were. No one would tell me anything.”
“Victoria found out you were looking,” she said. “She sent me a letter. Said if I didn’t stay gone, she’d make sure the state took the baby away. Said she’d tell them I was an unfit mother, that I couldn’t provide for him. She had the money to make it stick. I couldn’t risk losing Liam. Not after everything.”
Liam was staring at his mom like he’d never seen her before.
“All those nights you worked double shifts,” he said, quiet. “All those times we moved in the middle of the night. You said it was because of better jobs. It was always her, wasn’t it?”
Evelyn nodded, pressing her face into his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I never told you. I was so scared.”
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, and for a second I forgot to breathe.
This kid.
My kid.
He’d spent his whole life moving, working, helping his mom pay bills, and he’d never once complained.
Now he was holding her together, even though his whole world had just shattered too.
Evelyn pulled away from him after a minute, fumbling in the pocket of her uniform.
She pulled out a thick stack of envelopes, tied together with a frayed rubber band.
The paper was yellowed at the edges, some of the envelopes crinkled like they’d been opened and closed a hundred times.
“I wrote you one every year,” she said, pushing the stack across the coffee table to me. “On your birthday. On Liam’s birthday. On the anniversaries of all the things we were supposed to do together. I never sent them. I was too scared. But I couldn’t not write them.”
I picked up the stack.
It was heavy.
At least 20 envelopes, all addressed to me in her loopy handwriting, the same handwriting she’d used to pass me notes in high school.
I pulled the top one open, dated 18 years ago, two weeks after she’d left.
My Dearest J, it started. I’m so sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me. Our son is kicking today. I think he’s going to have your temper.
I looked up at them.
At Evelyn, still crying, her face streaked with tears.
At Liam, watching me, his hazel eyes—my eyes—full of fear and hope and a hundred other things I couldn’t name.
“I don’t need a DNA test,” I said, my voice rough.
Liam’s breath caught.
“I knew the second you walked through that elevator door,” I told him. “You’re my son. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
He stared at me for a long second.
Then he stood up, walked around the coffee table, and held out his hand.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, his voice cracking a little.
May you like
I stood up and pulled him into a hug instead.
He was stiff for half a second, then he wrapped his arms around my back, and for the first time in 18 years, I felt like I was home.
