CHAPTER 4 — Five Years Later
Five years passed.
Life slowly found its rhythm again.
Not because we forgot what happened.
But because healing demanded that we keep living.
Owen was six years old now.
Bright.
Curious.
The kind of child who asked endless questions and somehow made every room feel lighter.
Hannah had returned to teaching part-time.
Her laughter came more easily now.
The fear that once lingered behind her smile had finally begun to disappear.
As for me...
I had changed more than anyone realized.
I no longer ignored warning signs.
I no longer confused loyalty with blindness.
And every single day, I made sure Hannah and Owen knew they came first.
Always.
Patricia was still in prison.
She had appealed her conviction twice.
Both appeals failed.
We never visited.
Neither did Owen.
To him, she wasn't Grandma.
She was simply someone we didn't talk about.
Children accepted simple truths far more easily than adults.
One Friday afternoon, I picked Owen up from school.
He climbed into the car carrying a handmade paper trophy.
"Dad!"
I smiled.
"What happened?"
"I won kindness week!"
I laughed.
"Kindness week?"
He nodded proudly.
"My teacher said I helped a new boy who didn't have anyone to eat lunch with."
My chest filled with pride.
"What made you sit with him?"
Owen shrugged as though the answer were obvious.
"Because he looked lonely."
Sometimes...
Children teach adults everything that matters.
That evening, we celebrated with homemade pizza.
Hannah placed the paper trophy on the kitchen counter like it was made of gold.
"It belongs here."
Owen grinned.
"It isn't a real trophy."
She knelt beside him.
"It represents something real."
He smiled.
And I silently thanked God that our son was growing up in a home filled with encouragement instead of criticism.
The next Monday, my phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
"This is Ethan Parker."
A woman's voice answered.
"Mr. Parker, my name is Rebecca Hayes."
"I'm the director of Greenfield Correctional Center."
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"I see."
"There has been... an incident involving your mother."
I looked toward Hannah, who immediately noticed my expression.
"What kind of incident?"
There was a long pause.
"Patricia collapsed in the prison library yesterday."
I didn't know what I felt.
Shock.
Concern.
Confusion.
Maybe all three.
"Is she alright?"
"Physically, yes."
"But the prison physician believes she's showing signs of early cognitive decline."
I remained silent.
Rebecca continued carefully.
"She has made one request."
"I assume she wants a lawyer."
"No."
Another pause.
"She wants to see you."
That night...
I couldn't sleep.
Hannah found me sitting alone on the back porch long after midnight.
She wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.
"You don't have to go."
"I know."
"You also don't have to decide tonight."
I stared into the darkness.
"For years..."
"I wished she'd admit what she did."
Hannah quietly squeezed my hand.
"And now?"
I looked toward the house where Owen slept peacefully upstairs.
"I don't even know if she remembers."
Three days later...
I drove to Greenfield Correctional Center.
Alone.
The visiting room looked nothing like I remembered from television.
No dramatic music.
No shouting.
Just fluorescent lights.
Plastic chairs.
And tired faces.
Then the guard opened the door.
Patricia walked in slowly.
She looked smaller.
Older.
Her hair had turned almost completely white.
For a moment...
She simply stared at me.
Then she smiled softly.
"Ethan."
Her voice sounded gentle.
Almost unfamiliar.
She sat across from me.
"I've been thinking about your father."
I frowned.
"So have I."
She tilted her head.
"He died before meeting your little boy, didn't he?"
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
She wasn't avoiding the past.
She seemed...
Lost inside it.
Then she looked at me again.
Her next question made my blood run cold.
"Have you met Hannah yet?"
I stopped breathing.
She said Hannah's name...
As though none of the last six years had ever happened.
As though she still believed I hadn't married her.
The prison psychiatrist had been right.
Something was happening to her mind.
But before I could answer...
Patricia slowly reached into the pocket of her prison sweater.
She handed me a folded piece of paper.
"I found this."
"You need to know the truth."
I unfolded it carefully.
My heart stopped.
It wasn't one of her journals.
It wasn't a letter.
It was an old birth certificate.
My father's name appeared exactly where it should have.
But under Mother...
The name wasn't Patricia Parker.
It was someone else.
A woman named...
Elizabeth Carter.
I looked up in stunned disbelief.
"What is this?"
Patricia stared at me with frightened, confused eyes.
Then she whispered words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
"You were never mine."
And before I could ask another question...
She began crying uncontrollably.
Not because she remembered.
May you like
But because...
She no longer knew why she had kept the secret for so many years.
