Caleb used to make that exact expression when he was confused.
The boy pointed at me.
“Who’s that?”
Sadie’s voice shook.
“This is Diane.”
The little boy smiled.
“Hi.”
I couldn’t answer.
I looked at Sadie.
“No.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Diane.”
“No.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
My hands began trembling.
“Tell me what?”
She looked at the little boy.
“Beau, sweetheart, can you go play with Jasper?”
He hesitated.
“Can I have crackers?”
“Yes.”
“Two?”
Sadie gave a weak smile.
“Two.”
He disappeared toward the kitchen with Jasper following behind him.
I waited until he was gone.
Then I faced her.
“Tell me.”
Sadie sat down slowly.
I remained standing.
“Beau is Caleb’s son.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I grabbed the back of a chair.
“What?”
Sadie wiped her face.
“I found out I was pregnant after Caleb died.”
I stared at her.
Every sound around me became distant.
A refrigerator hummed.
A dog collar jingled somewhere in the kitchen.
A child opened a cabinet.
I heard all of it.
Yet I could barely understand the woman sitting five feet away from me.
“You knew for three years?”
“I didn’t know before the accident.”
“But you knew afterward.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
Her face crumpled.
“I was scared.”
I stepped away from the chair.
“Scared of what?”
“Everything.”
Her voice cracked.
“My parents were furious. Caleb and I weren’t together anymore. I was 18 and pregnant, and then he died.”
She pressed both hands against her face.
“I didn’t know what to do.”
I wanted to be angry.
Part of me was furious.
Three years.
Three birthdays.
Three Christmases.
Three years of grieving a son while his child lived somewhere across town.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
Sadie looked up.
“Because I thought you’d hate me.”
“Why would I hate you?”
“Because Caleb and I ended badly.”
I shook my head.
“That had nothing to do with me.”
“It felt like it did then.”
She looked toward the kitchen.
“My parents told me not to contact you. They said you had suffered enough.”
I let out a broken laugh.
“Suffered enough?”
“I know.”
“No, Sadie. You don’t know.”
She flinched.
I hated that I had hurt her.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Do you understand how many Sundays I’ve sat beside my son’s grave wishing I had one more piece of him?”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
