“I’m good. Really, but thank you.”
He nodded.
“Offer stands anytime.”
I changed physically, mentally. Military training bulked me up. I grew a beard, dressed differently.
The skinny, scared 17-year-old was gone, replaced by someone harder. Someone who’d learned that families were temporary and people would believe whatever narrative was most entertaining.
I thought about them sometimes.
My former family. Stephanie. Did she feel guilty? Did Connor grow up knowing his conception was a lie? Did my parents ever question what they’d done?
Every year on my birthday, I’d think about calling them, just to hear their voices, just to know if they ever thought about me.
But I never did.
What would I say?
Hey, remember when you threw me away like garbage? Good times.
Social media made it worse. I deleted all my accounts, but sometimes curiosity got the better of me. I’d look them up on public profiles.
My mom posting pictures of family dinners I wasn’t invited to. My dad at some charity golf tournament. Stephanie with Connor, smiling like she hadn’t destroyed someone’s life.
They looked happy.
That was the knife twist.
They moved on completely while I was still dealing with the aftermath.
Mostly, though, I try not to think about them at all.
Then, 3 months ago, I got a LinkedIn message.
Jessica Martinez.
My heart stopped. I hadn’t thought about her in years.
The message was short.
“Marcus, I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I need to talk to you. It’s about Stephanie. Please call me.”
She included her phone number.
I stared at that message for 2 days.
Part of me wanted to delete it and block her. Part of me needed to know what could possibly be important enough for her to reach out after a decade.
I called on a Saturday morning.
“Marcus.”
Her voice was older, but I recognized it.
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God. I didn’t think you’d actually call. How are you?”
“Fine. What do you want, Jessica?”
Silence on the other end.
Then, “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice cracked.
“I should have believed you. I should have listened. I was 17 and stupid, and I just—I believed what everyone else believed. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why are you calling me now?”
“Because the truth came out about Stephanie. About what she did to you.”
My hands started shaking.
“What are you talking about?”
“She confessed. Last month, the whole thing. Tyler was Connor’s father. Her boyfriend at the time. He broke up with her when he found out she was pregnant. Said he wanted nothing to do with the baby. She panicked and blamed you instead. She faked those text messages using some app. She destroyed your life, and she finally admitted it.”
The room tilted.
I sat down hard on my couch.
“Your parents know,” Jessica went on. “Everyone knows. It’s been all over Facebook. People from school are talking about it. Stephanie’s in therapy now. Apparently, she had some kind of breakdown and confessed everything to her therapist, who convinced her to tell your parents. They’re devastated.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Marcus, are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve been trying to find you.”
“Your parents?”