Chapter 14 - The Kitchen Sink Confession
The sound of his fork scraping against the ceramic plate echoed loudly in my ears. I couldn't stop looking at him.
“Oliver…” I started, my voice trembling so violently I had to clear my throat. “Did you know I used to hold you all the time when you were a baby?”
He laughed brightly, with his mouth still half-full of eggs.
“Yeah, Grandma told me that,” he said casually. “She says you never let anyone else carry me when I was little. That you sang me to sleep all the time when Mom was busy.”
I had to quickly turn away from him, grabbing a sponge to furiously wash a plate that was already perfectly clean. The hot water cascaded over my hands, masking the tears that were now streaming freely down my face.
“Auntie…” Oliver’s voice grew soft, laced with a child's genuine concern. “Why are you crying?”
I gripped the edge of the sink. I had promised myself I would not lie to him. Not ever again.
I turned off the faucet, dried my hands, and looked back at my son. “Because I love you very much, Oliver. More than you could ever possibly understand.”
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He gave a small, dismissive shrug, the way children do when confronted with adult emotions they don't fully grasp, and went happily back to eating his breakfast.
And I just stood there, leaning against the counter, watching him eat the meal I had prepared for him... twelve years too late. I could not bring myself to call him “son.” Not that morning. The word felt too heavy, too dangerous to drop into his innocent world. But deep in my heart, I knew there was no other name for him anymore.
