Chapter 150: Hundred and Fifty

It was almost too quiet when Noah came back upstairs that evening, cheeks flushed from running around with Charlie. He dumped his little backpack by the couch and immediately crawled into my lap, his energy spent.

“Hey, bud,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. He smelled like sweat and shampoo and the faint sweetness of the candy Charlie’s mom always sneaked him. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back against me, sighing in that dramatic way he always did. “But Mommy?”

“Mhm?” I smoothed his hair, bracing myself for a question about dinosaurs or snacks.

Instead, he looked up at me, his eyes round and serious. “Why was Declan’s mom so mad?”

My stomach dropped. My throat tightened like someone had slipped a fist around it.

“Baby, what do you mean?” I asked too quickly, my voice pitched higher than normal.

He tilted his head. “The lady at the lake house. She was yelling. I heard. She was mad at you, right? Did you do something bad?”

My eyes widened. Did you do something bad? God, how could I answer that?

I forced a smile, though I could feel how brittle it was. “No, sweetheart. I didn’t do anything bad.”

“Then why was she yelling?”

I swallowed hard. Declan’s footsteps sounded in the kitchen, the faint clink of glasses as he filled water. I wanted to call him in, to make him share this moment, but something inside me knew this was mine to carry. At least right now.

“She…” I searched for words, every lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “She was just surprised to see us. Sometimes adults get overwhelmed and say things they don’t mean. You know how when you get frustrated because your Legos won’t fit and you yell at them? It’s not the Lego’s fault. It’s just… feelings.”

He frowned, considering. “So I’m like Legos?”

I laughed shakily, tucking him closer to me. “No, you’re much more important than Legos. Sometimes grown-ups just… don’t handle things very well. But it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. And it doesn’t mean I did, either.”

He nodded slowly, still chewing on the answer. My heart pounded as I waited for the next question.

“Did she not like me?” he asked finally, so small, so soft.

My breath caught. “Oh, Noah.” I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “Everyone who meets you likes you. How could they not? You’re the best boy in the whole world.”

He gave me a shy smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She looked at me weird.”

“She was just surprised,” I said firmly, though the lie twisted something deep inside me. “It had nothing to do with you. You’re perfect, exactly the way you are.”

He leaned against my chest again, his little body relaxing. I kissed the top of his head, but my eyes burned with tears I wouldn’t let fall.

Later, after Noah had gone to bed, I stood in the kitchen rinsing a glass when Declan came in. He leaned against the counter, watching me.

“He asked about her, didn’t he?”

I stiffened. “He heard more than I thought.”

Declan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look surprised. “What did you tell him?”

“That she was overwhelmed. That sometimes grown-ups say things they don’t mean.” I set the glass down harder than I intended. “What was I supposed to say? That his grandmother looked at him like he was a stain on her perfect white tablecloth? That she doesn’t think I’m good enough to raise him?”

His eyes softened. “You did the right thing. For now.”

“For now,” I echoed bitterly. I pressed my palms flat against the counter, head bowed. “We can’t keep covering this up. He’s going to keep asking questions. And what happens the day he figures it out himself?”

Declan came closer, his hands bracing the counter on either side of mine. “Then we’ll be ready. Together.”

But the knot in my chest didn’t loosen.

The next morning, Noah climbed into bed with me before dawn, his small hands cold against my arm.

“Mommy?”

“Mhm?” My voice was thick with sleep.

“Are you and Declan mad at each other? You were loud last night.”

My heart lurched. “No, sweetheart. We just… disagreed. But it’s okay. We worked it out.”

He studied me, far too perceptive for his age. “He’s not going to leave, is he?”

My instinct was to say no, of course not, to smooth it all over. But I couldn’t. Not when I remembered the way Emma had looked at him, at me. Not when I thought about the legal papers that could come any day now. I had no idea what she would do. Maybe I would wake up tomorrow and there would be news article on me.

I hugged him close, pressing my lips to his hair. “No matter what happens, Noah, you’ll always have me. Always. And Declan… he cares about you very much. He’s not going anywhere right now.”

“Okay,” Noah whispered, though his voice was uncertain. He burrowed closer, and soon his breathing evened out again.

I lay awake long after, staring at the ceiling, guilt and fear tangling in my chest.

He deserved the truth. Declan was right about that. But how could I tell him without breaking something I’d spent years protecting?

I thought of Emma’s words again. Weakness has no place in this family. Maybe she was right about me. Maybe I was weak.

But as I held my son, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine, I knew one thing with perfect clarity: I couldn’t keep hiding forever.

Because the question he’d asked tonight was only the first of many. And soon, reassurance wouldn’t be enough.

The following evening, I stood at the sink while Noah colored at the table, the faint scratch of his crayons filling the room. Declan had gone to take a call in the other room. I thought I was alone in my head until Noah spoke again, his tone casual.

“Mommy, when can I see her again? Declan’s mom?”

The glass slipped in my hand, clinking too hard against the porcelain. “Why do you want to see her?”

He shrugged, not looking up from his drawing. “I just… I want to know why she doesn’t like you. Maybe if I’m there, she won’t be mad anymore.”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my chest tight. “Oh, baby. It’s not your job to fix grown-ups. Sometimes… sometimes people carry anger inside them, and it has nothing to do with you.”

His crayon slowed. He looked up, eyes big and earnest. “But I don’t want anyone to be mad at you.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Then I guess you and I have that in common.”

He smiled faintly, then went back to coloring. But the weight of his words stayed lodged in me, heavy like a rock.

Because if my son, my sweet, innocent, endlessly loving son, was already starting to carry the burden of Emma’s anger, then waiting any longer wasn’t just fear. It was cruelty.

I guess I had to tell him the truth sooner than I thought.