Part 2

That afternoon, Mason reached the mailbox before I did. The next day, he came home late, kept his phone facedown, and barely touched his favorite pasta at dinner.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Look at me.”

He slowly raised his eyes.

They looked tired.

“I’m fine.”

Hearing those words from him felt like hearing my own voice.

The lie I’d been telling had found its way back to me.

Saturday would have been my mother’s birthday.

I woke up early to bake her favorite citrus cake with thick chocolate frosting.

Mason wandered into the kitchen wearing the same gray hoodie he’d already worn twice that week.

“I’m making Grandma’s cake,” I said.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

I smiled as I mixed the batter.

“I’m going to wear her ring.”

His head lifted immediately.

“Why?”

“Because it was hers.”

I set the spoon down.

“What kind of question is that?”

“I only meant that it’s safer in the box.”

I shook my head.

“Your grandmother would’ve disagreed.”

I walked to my bedroom and opened the velvet jewelry box.

The ring was gone.

For several seconds, I simply stared into the empty box.

Then I emptied everything onto the bed.

Mason rushed into the room.

“What happened?”

“The ring’s gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe it fell.”

“It was in a closed box.”

I searched the dresser, the bathroom, my purse, and the closet while Mason moved around the room without really looking.

“Check under the bed again,” I said.

He immediately knelt down.

As I watched him pretending to search, a thought slipped into my mind.

He had asked what the ring was worth.

He had asked questions about emergencies.

I hated myself for even considering it.

Mason was my son.

He was the person I trusted most.

An hour later, the bedroom looked as though a storm had passed through it.

“We’ll find it,” he said quietly.

“It has to be somewhere.”

I looked directly at him.

“Did you take it?”

His eyes widened.

“No.”

“No.”

“Did one of your friends come into my room?”

He frowned.

“Why would they?”

I took a slow breath.

“Answer me properly, Mason.”

I wanted to believe every word he said.

Then his laundry told me otherwise.

I was gathering clothes when Mason carried his laundry basket downstairs.

“Leave it,” he said.

“I’m doing a load.”

“I’ll do mine.”

I looked at him.

“Since now.”

I reached for the basket, but he pulled it against his chest.

“Don’t go through my stuff.”

The fear in his voice made my hands turn cold.

“Mason, give it to me.”

I took the basket before he could pull away.

He stared at me for a second, then hurried upstairs.

“Mason?”

A moment later, his bedroom door slammed shut.

I reached into the pocket of his gray hoodie.

Inside was a pawn receipt.

It described a narrow gold ring with a diamond.

My mother’s ring.

“No,” I whispered.

Another folded paper slipped onto the floor.

My name was printed across the top.

It was a payment confirmation for my follow-up imaging.

I read both papers twice.

Mason had taken my mother’s ring.

He’d sold it.

He’d used the money for me.

I forced myself to stay calm.

I needed facts before anger.

Mr. Watson confirmed that a young man had signed the paperwork after claiming I had approved the sale. When I showed him my mother’s photograph, he admitted the ring had already been sold.

“Call the buyer,” I said.

“I can’t promise they’ll return it.”

“Call anyway.”

After a long pause, he reached for the phone.

The payment confirmation led me straight to the medical office.

When I arrived, Mason was standing at the reception desk with his backpack on the floor beside him.

He was arguing with the receptionist.

“I paid the deposit listed on the paper,” he insisted.

The woman remained patient.

“Your mother has to speak with us, sweetie.”

“Then call her.”

“We can’t make decisions through you. You’re a minor, and your mom has to authorize everything.”

I stepped forward.

“No,” I said behind him. “You’re right. He can’t do anything.”

Mason froze.

Slowly, he turned around.

“Mom.”

His face fell.

“Please let me explain.”

I kept my voice steady.

“You will. Outside.”

He followed me into the parking lot without another word.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I held up the pawn receipt.

Tears immediately filled his eyes.

“I know.”

“You knew what it meant.”

He shook his head.

“I knew what you meant.”

I frowned.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He pulled the wrinkled medical notice from his pocket.

“You said it was just billing, but you kept putting off the test.”

“It wasn’t a diagnosis, sweetheart.”

His voice rose.

“What if you didn’t have time to wait?”

“You weren’t deciding anything!” he shouted. “You were throwing the paper away, Mom!”

“I was waiting for my next paycheck.”

“And what if something was wrong?”

“Mason.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“I watched Dad get weaker while both of you told me everything was fine.”

I couldn’t answer.

He wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Everyone kept protecting me. Then, one morning, he was gone.”

My voice softened.

“This isn’t the same thing, baby.”

He looked at me helplessly.

“How was I supposed to know?”

Then he said the one thing I couldn’t deny.

“You lied.”

CONTINUE READING