PART 13 – After Everyone Left the Dining Room, My Son Asked Me a Question I Had Never Thought to Ask Him

I stayed beside Jeremy on the sofa.

He held the glass of water with both hands.

He hadn't taken another drink.

I didn't want to rush him.

For eight years, I had wished for conversations with my son.

Now that one had finally begun, I understood how easily a frightened child could retreat if the people around him asked too much.

I wanted him to feel safe.

Not pressured.

Not examined.

Just safe.

I brushed a little hair away from his forehead.

He looked at me.

"Are you tired, sweetheart?"

He nodded.

I smiled.

"That's okay. You can rest."

He looked down at his hands.

Then he spoke again.

"Are you angry?"

I didn't understand at first.

"Angry about what?"

He glanced toward the dining room.

At his father.

My heart sank.

"No. I'm not angry with you."

He studied my face.

I could tell he was trying to decide whether to believe me.

I took his hand.

"You haven't done anything wrong."

He looked toward the hallway.

Then back at me.

I had spent years telling him that he didn't have to speak.

I had never thought to tell him that he didn't have to protect me either.

I leaned closer.

"You can tell me things, Jeremy. Even difficult things."

He nodded.

For a moment, I thought that was all he had left to say.

Then he asked something that broke my heart.

"Will Dad be angry?"

I looked at him.

I wanted to give him an easy answer.

I wanted to say no.

But I couldn't promise how another person would behave.

So I told him the truth.

"I won't let anyone hurt you for telling me what you remember."

He watched me.

Then he slowly set the glass on the little table.

I noticed his hands were trembling.

I held them between mine.

He looked toward Janice's photograph.

"She didn't want to go."

I felt my breathing change.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at the floor.

"She was with me."

I waited.

He didn't continue.

I didn't ask another question.

I simply held his hand.

A few minutes later, my husband appeared in the doorway.

Jeremy immediately became still.

I noticed it.

So did my husband.

He stopped walking.

"Can we talk?"

I looked at Jeremy.

He nodded toward the stairs.

I understood that he wanted some privacy.

I kissed his forehead.

"Go upstairs and get comfortable. I'll come see you."

He stood.

Before leaving, he looked at his father.

My husband didn't say anything.

Jeremy walked slowly toward the staircase.

I watched until he disappeared.

Then I turned toward my husband.

"What did you want to talk about?"

He glanced toward the empty dining room.

"Not here."

I followed him back.

The photograph was still on the mantel.

The flowers were still on the table.

The little dark marks left by our dinner plates remained on the tablecloth.

Everything looked ordinary.

But I knew our family was no longer having an ordinary conversation.

My husband pulled out a chair.

He didn't sit immediately.

Neither did I.

Finally, I asked the question I had been afraid to ask for eight years.

"Is there something about that day you haven't told me?"

He looked at me.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he answered.

"I've told you what happened."

I shook my head.

"No. You've told me what happened to Janice. You haven't told me why Jeremy is afraid to speak about it."

My husband looked toward the staircase.

And I waited for him to answer.

Click here to continue reading: PART 14: My Husband Insisted He Had Done Everything Possible, But His Explanation No Longer Matched What Our Son Remembered