I steadied myself, rage and sorrow mixing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You took my son and built a life out of my loss. You let me bury him while he was still alive. You didn’t save him — you stole fifteen years and called it love.”
Jamie shook his head. “You made me think I was alone in the world. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Layla said nothing.
Mike’s voice cut through, trembling. “You need to answer for what you’ve done.”
Layla nodded, broken. “I will. I’ll tell the truth. To everyone.”
“You stole fifteen years and called it love.”
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We didn’t leave right away.
I looked Layla in the eye. “You’re coming home with us. You owe our family the truth.”
Layla tried to protest, but Bill spoke up, his voice firm for the first time.
“I need answers. And you owe my… mom that much.”
Layla nodded, defeated. “I’ll come.”
“I need answers.”
***
The plane ride home was a blur. Layla sat by the window, silent and pale, her hands twisting in her lap. Bill stared straight ahead, jaw set. Mike and I exchanged quiet looks, grief and anger wrestling behind every word we didn’t say.
At our house, I called our parents. They arrived within the hour. I’d never seen my mother’s hands shake like that.
Layla stood in the living room, flanked by the people she’d lied to for years.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I thought I was saving him. I see now… I was saving myself.”
My father’s voice was hard. “You took our grandson and you let your sister mourn him all these years.”
“I was saving myself.”
“I know,” Layla said, shoulder slumping.
That’s when the knock came.
