“You can lie to your fiancée. You can lie to your family. You can even lie to investigators if you think you’re clever enough. But do not stand in front of my sons and say I didn’t tell you.”
My sons.
Not our sons.
The distinction landed exactly where I wanted it to.
Marianne lowered herself into a chair, tears spilling down her face as she reached toward the boys.
“May I?” she whispered to me.
I looked down at Jonah.
He studied her for a moment, cautious and serious, then stepped forward.
Marianne touched his cheek like he was something sacred.
“My grandson,” she breathed.
Jonah frowned. “There are four of us.”
A broken laugh escaped her. “Yes. Yes, sweetheart. Four miracles.”
Noah edged forward next. “Do you have cookies?”
Even in that shattered room, a few people let out stunned little laughs.
Marianne wiped her face. “I have so many cookies.”
