I still remembered every minute after that.
The guests left one by one, each offering awkward smiles and quiet apologies, as though they felt responsible for what had happened.
I cleaned plates I couldn’t remember serving while Marcus sat in the living room, watching television as if he’d done nothing wrong.
“Are you going to apologize?” I asked.
He didn’t look away from the screen.
“For telling the truth?”
“You humiliated him.”
“He embarrassed himself.”
I slammed a plate into the sink harder than I meant to.
“He’s my son.”
“And he’s 18 now. Maybe it’s time someone stopped treating him like a child.”
I wiped my hands on a towel and walked upstairs.
Andrew’s bedroom door was open, the room empty. I figured he was taking his time, clearing his head.
Then I saw the note on his bed.
“Mom,”
“I love you more than anyone in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. Please don’t look for me.”
