We agreed to talk to Jake together, this time with open ears and hearts. No judgments. No accusations.
We drove out to his mom’s the next weekend. Jake met us outside. He looked older. Tired. Nervous.
He told us how hard it had been—going from house to house, never sure where he belonged. How he always felt like a guest in both homes. How he wished he had what Lily had—stability, love, consistency.
“I never wanted to scare anyone,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to be part of something.”
Tom cried. I cried.
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