I turned toward Marcus.
“You watched me fall apart.”
He remained silent.
“You let me believe my own son abandoned me.”
“I thought it was kinder.”
“Kinder?”
I almost laughed.
“There is nothing kind about convincing a child his mother is better off without him.”
Marcus finally lost his composure. “I was tired.”
His voice grew louder. “I was tired of every argument, of every neighbor talking, of wondering what people thought when they saw him.”
“There it is,” Andrew said quietly.
Marcus ignored him.
“I wanted a normal family.”
I shook my head.
“You had one.”
He frowned.
“You just refused to accept it.”
The room fell silent again.
Then I walked to the hallway closet.
Marcus looked confused.
“What are you doing?”
I opened the closet and pulled out the large suitcase we’d used for vacations years ago.
Without a word, I carried it into the living room and set it at Marcus’s feet.
He looked from the suitcase to me.
“Liza.”
“You wanted my son to leave.”
I pointed at the suitcase.
“Now it’s your turn.”
His face drained of color.
“You’re throwing me out?”
“You threw away six years of my life.”
He took a step toward me.
“We can fix this.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you another minute.”
His voice softened.
“I love you.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“If you loved me, you would never have made me believe my son stopped loving me.”
He reached for my hand.
I pulled it away.
“Pack your things.”
“Liza.”
“Today.”
He looked around the room as though expecting someone to rescue him.
Nobody moved.
After a long moment, he picked up the suitcase, and without another word, he walked upstairs. The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed through the house.
About 20 minutes later, Marcus came downstairs with the suitcase full. He stopped near the front door.
“I’m sorry.”
It was the first apology he’d offered.
It was also six years too late.
I opened the door.
