James finally spoke, voice so much like Dad’s, it hurt.
“Your father forgave her, but he never forgave me. He cut me off completely.”
Mom continued, “For thirty years, we kept James a secret. It was easier because he traveled so much. He didn’t even know about you kids until last week.”
James nodded. “I came to apologize, and to ask for a second chance.”
Brian jumped to his feet. “A second chance? After all this time? Dad was the one who stayed. You don’t get to just walk in now.”
James sighed and removed the blue shirt. “You’re right. This wasn’t mine to wear.”
We quietly asked him to leave, and he did.
After the door shut, Mom collapsed in sobs.
“I’ve hurt you, and your father, and James,” she wept.
I knelt next to her, taking her hand. “No, Mom. You gave us a wonderful life. Dad loved you, and so do we.”
She nodded weakly. “Seeing James reminded me who I was… and why I let him go.”
That night we stayed, comforting her. Brian ordered pizza, and I made tea.
It wasn’t Mom’s roast chicken, but we still gathered around the old kitchen table, together.
At nine, Mom finally sent another message to the family group chat:
“Dinner next Sunday. 6 p.m. Bring tupperware. And maybe a hug.”
