I called Tom. I told him about the message. About what Jake had written. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just breathed heavily on the other end of the line.
“I should’ve seen it,” he finally said.
We drove out to his mom’s the next weekend. Jake met us outside. He looked older. Tired. Nervous.
We sat down and let him talk.
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.
We decided right then to start again. Carefully, slowly. We brought in a family counselor. Lily joined the sessions too. Over the following months, things got better. Not perfect, but better.
Jake still visits, though not every weekend. He and Lily talk sometimes now. They’ve even played a few video games together. The photo box? We gave it back to him—but this time, we added new photos. One of all of us at the lake. One from Lily’s last birthday. One of Jake and Tom fixing the fence in the backyard.
Jake keeps it on his bookshelf now. Not hidden.
Continue reading…
