They were sitting on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, hands folded in their laps. They did not look up when I closed the door.
“Noah? Liam? What is going on?” I asked, dropping my keys on the table.
Liam lifted his head. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were unreadable.
“Mom, we need to talk,” he said, and there was a formality in his tone that made my stomach twist.
I set my bag down, the damp fabric clinging to my skin, and lowered myself into the armchair across from them.
“All right,” I said softly. “I am listening.”
Liam took a deep breath.
“We cannot stay here anymore,” he said. “We are moving out. We do not want to see you again.”
My brain refused to process the words.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked. “Are you recording something for social media? Because I am way too tired to play along.”
“Mom,” he said quietly, “we met our dad. We met Evan.”
I felt the name like a blast of cold air.
“He is the director of the college program,” Noah went on. “He saw our last name and looked us up. He told us he has been waiting for a chance to be part of our lives.”
Liam jumped in, his voice sharper.
“He said you kept us away from him, Mom. He told us he tried to be involved, that he wanted to help, and that you shut him out.”
I stared at my sons, seeing their faces yet almost not recognizing them.
“That is not true,” I whispered. “I told him I was pregnant when I was 17. He promised me we would be a family. The very next morning, he was gone. His mother said he had gone out west. He blocked me. He never called. Not once.”
