Zoe
Victor looks at us, and I see the tears in his eyes, the same tears I have seen in Liam's eyes, the tears of a man who has lost too much and is afraid of losing more. "Your father did not die because he was protecting you," he says, and his voice is barely a whisper, and I feel Liam tense beside me, feel his hand tighten around mine. "He died because he was protecting your mother."
The words hang in the air, heavy and dark, and I watch Liam's face change, the confusion, the anger, the grief. "My mother?" he says, and his voice is rough, broken. "What does my mother have to do with any of this?"
Victor takes a step closer, and I see the guilt in his eyes, the same guilt I have seen in my own reflection, the guilt of a man who has done things he cannot undo. "Your mother was not sick," he says, and his voice is low, steady, the voice of a man who has been holding this secret for too long. "She was not dying. She was hiding. She was running from the same people who killed your father, because she knew too much, because she was the one who gave him the information that got him killed."
Liam's hand is shaking in mine, and I feel the rage rising in him, the same rage that has been burning for two years, the same rage that has driven him to destroy Evelyn and her network. "You are lying," he says, and his voice is cold, dangerous, the voice of a man who has been betrayed. "My mother died in a hospital. I watched her die. I held her hand."
"You watched a woman die," Victor says, and his voice is gentle, almost kind, the voice of a man who has delivered hard truths before. "But it was not your mother. She paid someone to take her place, to die in her bed, to give her the time she needed to disappear. She has been living in Canada for the last two years, under a different name, a different face. She is alive, Liam. Your mother is alive."
I feel Liam's legs buckle, and I catch him, hold him, keep him upright. He is crying, silent tears streaming down his face, and I hold him and I do not speak, because there are no words for this, for the discovery that the mother he has been mourning is alive, that the past two years have been built on a lie, that the woman who gave him life chose to let him believe she was dead.
"Why?" Liam asks, and his voice is broken, the voice of a child, the voice of a man who has lost everything and is trying to find his way back. "Why did she leave me? Why did she let me think she was dead?"
Victor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter, yellowed and creased, the handwriting small and neat. "She wrote you this," he says, and he hands it to Liam. "She asked me to give it to you when the time was right. I think the time is right."
Liam takes the letter, and his hands are shaking, and I hold him, and he opens it, and he reads, and I watch his face change, the anger fading, the grief softening, the love rising.
"She was protecting me," he says, and his voice is quiet, wondering, the voice of a man who is beginning to understand. "She knew they would come after me if they knew she was alive. She left to keep me safe."
I hold him tighter, and I feel his tears on my cheek, and I do not wipe them away, because they are not tears of sadness, they are tears of relief, of joy, of the overwhelming weight of a truth that has been hidden for too long.
"What do I do?" he asks, and he looks at me, and I see the fear in his eyes, the same fear I felt when I thought I was going to lose my mother. "How do I find her?"
I take his face in my hands, and I look at him, at my husband, at the man who has become my everything, and I say, "We find her together. We go to Canada, we find your mother, and we bring her home."