Eight Years Of His Lies

meant three months of crushing loneliness every winter while he and his father, Greg, lived i

tment door-Greg, my son Josh, and Brittany, his high school

ergy strong," Greg coached him. It

he cried for Brittany, not me. "Mommy's always sa

sion" were actually powerful sedatives. He wasn't just

ilt my entire world on a foundation of deceit. So I walked out, leaving

pte

alenzue

ir; it was inside me, a chill that seeped into my bones the moment G

, a tightness in my chest that made it hard to breathe. The

ghter, Greg's heavy footsteps, even the clatter of dishes – all g

he walls. Cooked meals for one that I never finished. Cleaned

return. I imagined Josh running into my arms, Greg's stron

free zone." Maybe I could leave a care package. Maybe just see them from a distance. A

eart. My stomach dropped. I heard Josh call out, "Brittany, can we

ulated, cruel lie. The pieces clicked, cold an

okay? Your dad said we need to make sure Kiana doesn't

orld tilted. They were using his life-threat

ribs like a trapped bird. The pristine white w

The warmth I' d been holding onto, the love, the hope-it al

nd him. "Mom, I missed you!" he chirped, but his eyes d

ice flat, almost a whisper. I looked straig

kes the best cookies," he mumbled, looking at his sh

Josh," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Do

en. His whole life, I'd guarded him from them. He looked at

re you doing?" he snapped, his voice

and out towards the candy bar I held. His little fi

ndy bar from my hand. "Are you insane?

ot in my gut, started to unwind. "Dangerous?" I echoed, my vo

restaurant vetted. Every friend's house pre-checked. I' d given up my career, my

One speck can kill him." I had always been so careful,

trembling now. I pointed at the imagined peanut butter

m. "Kiana, what are you talking about? Are

eard you tell Josh to keep eating peanut butter. To keep his 'allergy st

ard," he said quickly, too quickly. "Yo

er. Your mom isn't feeling well." He pulled Josh away, out of

stove dark. He came back hours later, Josh asleep i

id, trying to put his arm around me. I pulled away. "

pered. My throat felt

s harsh earlier. I just worry about you when you get like this. We'l

festation of the betrayal, a searing heat behind my eyes and a crushing weight o

me. I pressed it against my arm. A thin line of red welled up, stinging. It was a small, sharp pain, a

oming, hot and furious. I cried until my eyes burned, until

ifyingly clear. The "allergy," the isolation, my depression, the pity, the self-blame-it was all a carefully c