I stared at Lia, my pulse roaring in my ears, torn between rage and the old, aching love I’d never fully buried. Alex watched us, confusion and fear flickering across his face. “You should have come to me,” I said quietly. “Not to my child.” Lia’s eyes filled with tears as she explained how shame and fear had kept her away, how she’d followed our lives from a distance, terrified to knock on the front door she once slammed behind her.
Later that night, Alex and I sat on his bed, the headphones between us. I told him who Lia used to be before she ran, and what her disappearance did to our family. “Do you want her in your life?” I asked. He hesitated, then nodded. So I set the only boundary I could live with: Lia could return, but this time, she would walk through the front door, look us in the eye, and stay.
