With his knees pulled to his chest and his fingers twitching with the corner of a comic book he wasn't reading, Jason sat on the floor. Beside him, Lorna was folding laundry, her motions robotic and automatic. The city skyline glowed gold in the late afternoon sun outside, but there was a heavy silence between them.
Jason looked up at her, his brows knitted in that familiar, contemplative manner that sometimes made Lorna gasp at how much he resembled Michael.
"Mom," he said in a quiet but confident tone, "do you still love him?"
Lorna's hands gripped a tiny T-shirt as she froze. Between them hung the question, brittle and shaky.
Even though she already knew, she asked, "Who?"
"Michael," Jason murmured. "My father."
She took a deep breath. She could dodge the question, lie, or provide a kind response that would pique a child's interest. However, Jason was no longer a baby. He was asking as a son, but also as a person who was starting to make sense of the world.
"I—" Her voice cracked. "Jason, some things are difficult. Individuals are difficult to understand."
Jason nodded without pressing. He got up, hugged her, and walked out of the room. As she watched him leave, Lorna's heart ached from everything she was unable to express aloud.
The moon shone through the windows, illuminating Lorna's writing desk as she sat there that night, long after Jason had gone to bed. For weeks, her journal remained unopened. Now, however, words rushed out of her, piercing and painful.
Dear Michael,
I have no idea why I am writing this. I'm not sure if I'll send it. Perhaps I must tell the truth, if only to these pages.
Once, you inquired as to whether I had moved on. if my love for you had ceased. I didn't respond.
I never stopped, in fact. Not at all. Even when I was angry with you. even when I believed that I would never be able to forgive you. even after I persuaded myself that I needed Lucas.
You haunt me in all of Jason's laughs, in the music played in quiet coffee shops, and in the way your name makes my heart skip a beat. You are present in my regrets, in my memories, and in the life we could have led had fear not interfered.
However, love isn't always sufficient. I learned that from you.
Perhaps no one will read this letter, so it will remain here between pages. Or perhaps I'll find the strength to let you read it when I'm braver than I am now.
I will love you from a distance until then.
—L
As though terrified to awaken the spirits within, she carefully closed the journal. She kept her fingers on the cover. Silently and without invitation, a tear trickled down her cheek.
Lorna let out a breath in the silence of the night.
Everything would go on tomorrow as if nothing had happened.
However, something had.