Page 50 of Surrender

Devon’s mother.

Steeling myself with a deep breath, I swipe the bar across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Whitney. How are you doing, darling?”

“I’m well, Janet. How are you?”

Her sigh holds the weight of her grief. “You know. About as well as expected, I suppose.”

That’s her standard answer. As if she has some chart she’s measuring herself up against about how grieving mothers should be doing at the six-month mark.

She has one for me too. And according to her, I’m not grieving enough.

I decided before the funeral that I’d never let her know what her son had been up to. I tucked down any thoughts and feelings I had about his behavior and hid the truth. What good would it do? She lost her son who she loved dearly despite his failings, and I played the part of a woman who lost the love of her life.

Except he wasn’t.

I loved Devon. But several years into our marriage, it became clear that while I loved him, he wasn’t the love of my life.

“I miss my son.” Her scratchy voice invades and snaps me back to the present.

“Have you been to visit him?” I ask carefully. She didn’t live in West Bend with us, but she’s close enough to make the drive or ask Alice to take her.

“It’s not the same. I don’t feel him there.” She sighs. “I wish you hadn’t sold his home.”

Tension straightens my back painfully, and I bite back the harsh exhale flooding my throat. “That was our house, and I couldn’t stay there any longer,” I respond with a forced softness.

“But you didn’t have to leave town! You’re so far away in Minnesota. Back to a place you haven’t been in years. I’ll hardly see you or the kids.”

“You know we’ll visit. I promised we would.”

“They’re all I have left of him.” The shake in her voice brings a lump to my throat.

“I’ve told you I’m sorry, but I did what I needed to do. What was best for me.”

“And what about what’s best for Devon?” she snaps.

My jaw falls open. “Devon is gone,” I hiss, blinking back the burn in my eyes. “None of us asked for this. Not Devon, not you, and certainly not me or my children. They lost their father.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “Six months, you know? Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere. I miss the kids too. And you, of course.”

“Of course,” I murmur.

“Do you think you could visit soon? I have the guest room you can stay in.”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek and glance around Jack’s house. “It’ll be a while. We’ve only just left and haven’t even settled in here yet.”

“All the more reason to come back.”

“Janet,” I warn.

“Just think about it,” she rushes out. “Alice told me your house fell through, and you’re at a motel. It’s not too late to come back.”

My gaze falls on the spot in front of the fireplace where Jack pleasured me within an inch of my life.

Oh, I think it’s far too late to come back.

---