Page 11 of All for her Forgiveness

"Don't cry, dear. I'll be fine. Both of us will. You'll be better off in New Orleans, with your protector and your boy."

"He'll see me as a stranger, Delores. King is two years old and has no idea I'm his mother."

Tears flow uncontrollably now, and I feel her arms wrap around me, which, after a few minutes, calms me down.

"One day at a time, my love. You're not alone. You have me, though I'm not of much use. But there's also my daughter Angela, who already adores you, Mr. Ernest, and also this secret protector who's footing the lawyer bills. Everything will be okay. As for your boy, you'll have time to win him over."

I give her a kiss on the cheek, praying to God that it's true.

1 I didn't make this up. According to my research, it can actually happen in special situations in Massachusetts, and remember that the crime happened in Cape Cod, in said state. Despite this, I'm almost certain that in Kennedy's case, due to there not being proof from the court that she was actually a fugitive or that she didn't turn herself in earlier because she was "amnesic," I think this right to answer to the charges while out on bail wouldn't apply or be granted, especially considering it's a violent crime—accessory or complicity to commit murder. The permission to not only answer the charges while out on bail but also leave Massachusetts can be granted in some situations in this state. In the present situation, however, I believe the chance would be slim. But the beauty of a fictional literary work is that we can play with reality.

Kennedy

CHAPTER FIVE

NEW ORLEANS

I can't lethim go.

Either my son is a very calm child, or God made him recognize me as his mother, because as soon as I saw my baby, I picked him up, crying, and I couldn't stop kissing him and telling him how much I love him.

As the car that brought me approached the house a few minutes ago, anxiety grew in my chest, increasing the erratic beating of my heart and the emotions roaring within me.

Ernest brought me photos of King when I was in Massachusetts, but still, I was surprised that he didn't have any of my features. Actually . . . no, that would be impossible.

I force myself to focus only on the present.

Two years away! I missed so much.

As soon as I saw him outside the house Ernest rented for us, I ran to him and fell to my knees to wrap him in my arms.

I knew that, against my chest, I was holding the reason for my life. For him, I would fight.

The last image I had in my memory was when I breastfed him before going to Massachusetts to surrender. I promised my son I would do the right thing and then come back to be the best mother he could wish for.

My promise wasn't fulfilled.

The accident separated us, and there's still this sword hanging over my head, the shadow of a possible prison sentence that, despite my lawyers' optimism, is my greatest fear.

I press my lips together to prevent a sob when his hand comes to my face.

"Mommy!" he says, and I look at Ernest, astonished.

"I showed him photos of you every day. I wanted to make sure King would never forget the wonderful woman who gave birth to him."

"I can never thank you enough, Ernest."

"Your happiness is mine too. You don't need to thank me, Kennedy."

"Kendy!" King mimics Ernest.

"None of that, handsome. I'm your mommy."

He smiles, releases himself from my embrace, and runs off.

"My son is perfect."

"And a great kid too." He stays silent for a long time, just staring at me.

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