Grant stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Eli looked at him.
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“You’ve had six years.”
Grant turned toward me.
“He’s blaming me because he cannot accept responsibility for running away.”
Eli unlocked his phone.
“You really want to keep lying?”
Grant said nothing.
Eli raised the screen.
“I kept these because I knew someday I might need them.”
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
“What are they?”
“The reason I never came home.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“They prove nothing.”
“Then let Mom read them.”
Eli walked toward me.
Grant moved to block him.
Without thinking, I stepped between them.
It was the first time in years I had physically placed myself between my husband and my son.
“Move.”
Grant stared at me.
“Mara.”
“Move.”
He hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
Eli placed the phone in my hands.
The Messages
The first message was dated the night of Eli’s eighteenth birthday.
