Chapter 5: No More Letting Go

Back home, I fried up some potatoes, planning to make hash browns for dinner.

The kitchen filled with the smell of sizzling potatoes—a small comfort after the day’s drama. I chopped onions, sprinkled salt, did my best to make the meal feel special for my daughter. The sizzle was the only thing that didn’t judge me.

With Lillian gone these past years, I had to take care of the kids and work as an assistant at the local pharmacy.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. I stocked shelves, counted pills, learned the names of every regular. The work was steady, the folks there decent. I took what I could get.

Because I was quick and careful,

they never fired me, even when I had to take time off for family.

I was grateful for the flexibility, for the understanding. It made the long days a little easier to bear.

So I earned what I could to support the two kids.

Every paycheck went straight to groceries, rent, school supplies. There was never enough left for extras, but we got by. Barely.

Even though I’d decided to leave both kids to Lillian, until she got back, I still had to take care of them.

I wasn’t heartless—I loved my kids, even if I was tired of being the only one who cared. I made sure they had what they needed, at least until Lillian came home.

My son had been staying at my folks’ place lately, so I only made dinner for my daughter and me.

The house felt empty without him, quieter than usual. I set two plates on the table, poured milk into chipped glasses, and tried to pretend everything was normal. For a minute, it almost was.

I waited until after nine, but Mark never showed up. I figured maybe he really didn’t care, so I was ready to go to the sheriff tomorrow.

The hours dragged by, the house growing colder as the night wore on. I rehearsed what I’d say to the sheriff, how I’d lay out the evidence, how I’d finally get justice.

But after ten, the front door suddenly opened from outside.

The hinges creaked, and I tensed, wondering who could be coming by so late. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, heart pounding in my chest.

I threw on a jacket and came out to see Lillian—looking years younger—carrying a bundle, walking in with Mark.

She looked tired, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, but there was a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in ages. Mark followed close behind, posture nervous, like he was bracing for a fight.

Mark saw me looking and managed a smile.

It was weak, forced, and shaky. He avoided my eyes, focusing on the floor instead.

“Sam, I forgot to mention, Lil’s coming home early today.”

He paused, then added, “You don’t need to cook, Lil already ate at my place.”

The words stung more than I’d like to admit. I clenched my jaw, fighting to keep my temper in check.

Seeing my face darken, he nervously glanced at Lillian and hurried to explain:

“Sam, don’t misunderstand, it’s just Jamie hadn’t seen his aunt in so long, and when she came back he wouldn’t let go of her.”

He spoke fast, the words tumbling over each other. I could tell he was scared, desperate to avoid a confrontation.

“Lil loves the kids, so she stayed at my place till now. Please, don’t…”

His voice trailed off, the plea hanging in the air. I stared at him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I stared at Mark without replying.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Lillian shifted her weight, clearing her throat as she set her things down.

Lillian set down her things and soothed the anxious Mark. “It’s fine. Sam isn’t petty.”

Her voice was calm, almost patronizing. She patted Mark’s shoulder, reassuring him like he was a kid who’d gotten in trouble at school. I watched, biting my tongue.

“You go on home. If Jamie doesn’t see you, he’ll make a fuss.”

She smiled, the kind of smile she used to smooth over any argument. Mark hesitated, then nodded, glancing at me one last time before slipping out the door.

Mark looked at me, hesitated, then at Lillian, and finally left.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving just the two of us in the quiet house. I could hear my daughter playing in the next room, her laughter a small comfort.

I turned to head back to my room.

I was done with arguments, done with explanations. I just wanted to be alone, to gather my thoughts before the next storm hit.

Lillian called out, “Can we talk?”

Her voice was soft, almost pleading. I paused in the hallway, debating whether to answer.

I paused, then nodded.

I figured it was time to get it all out in the open, once and for all.

We sat across the table from each other.

The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the light harsh and unforgiving. I folded my hands on the table, waiting for her to speak.

I watched Lillian sit in silence for a long time. Just as I was about to get up and leave, she finally looked up.

Her eyes were tired, the weight of years etched into the lines on her face. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then finally spoke.

“Sam, did you go stir things up with Mark today?”

Her tone was accusatory, sharp. I felt my hackles rise, the anger simmering just below the surface. I wanted to laugh at the nerve.

I’d thought her silence was because she was trying to figure out how to explain all the years of sending money and vouchers to Mark.

I expected an apology, or at least an explanation. Instead, she was on the attack, making me the villain in my own story.

But instead, she was questioning me?

I stared at her, disbelief all over my face. Was she really going to make this about me?

Before I could answer, Lillian went on: “Do you realize what you said today will make everyone look at your brother-in-law differently?”

She leaned forward, voice rising. It was all about appearances, about keeping up the facade, never about the truth. Always about Mark.

I laughed. “So, you mean you can ignore your husband and kids for three years,

let another man eat his fill and raise someone else’s children,

and that’s fine, but I’m not allowed to say a word?”

My laughter was bitter, the kind that leaves a sour taste. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“This is what came of you begging me to give up my college spot so I would stay home?”

I let the question hang, daring her to answer. I wanted her to see, to really see, what her choices had cost us.

Lillian hadn’t expected me to say that.

Her face darkened, eyes narrowing. She opened her mouth, searching for a comeback, but the words wouldn’t come.

She snapped, “What other man? He’s our brother-in-law!”

She said it like that made everything okay, like family ties excused everything. Like I was the one being unreasonable.

“So what?” I asked.

I kept my voice steady, refusing to back down. Family or not, wrong was wrong.

Lillian seemed to be holding back her anger, explaining as patiently as she could, “When I was in school, your sister supported me. I owe them!”

She looked at me, eyes pleading for understanding, as if the past could justify the present. But I’d heard it all before, and this time, I wasn’t going to let it go.

I wasn’t the man she could talk down anymore.