Barry forced himself to continue.
“He fell down the bank. The water was fast. We panicked. The older boys ran.”
His voice broke.
“I ran too.”
My wife wiped at her eyes, but the anger in her face did not soften.
“He let you grieve all these years while he said nothing.”
Barry nodded.
“She’s right.”
There are moments when rage feels so near you can almost taste it. I had imagined many kinds of suffering in my life, but never this. Never sitting across from a man I had welcomed into my home, only to discover he carried the final secret of my son’s life.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to throw him out. I wanted fifteen years back.
But no anger, no punishment, no confession could give me that.
So instead, I heard myself ask the question that hurt almost as much as the answer.
“Why stay? Why come close to us at all?”
