Why Was Mom Afraid of Noah?

Back upstairs, I stared at my mother.

“Mom, what is going on?”

She looked toward the locked door again.

“I need you to listen before you say anything.”

“Okay.”

She took a shaky breath.

“You think you know everything about Noah.”

“I’ve known him for twelve years.”

“I know.”

“Then what could you possibly tell me?”

She looked down at her hands.

“There are things about the day you met him that you don’t remember.”

My stomach tightened.

“What things?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she asked:

“Do you remember what happened after your first day of school?”

“No.”

“You came home carrying a drawing.”

“A dinosaur?”

She nodded.

“And you kept talking about a little boy named Noah.”

I smiled despite myself.

“So?”

“Your father wasn’t happy.”

That made my smile disappear.

“Why?”

“Because he knew Noah’s family.”

I stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

Mom stood up.

She walked to the window.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she whispered:

“Your father knew Noah’s father long before you ever met Noah.”

I felt a strange chill.

“What are you saying?”

Mom turned around.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

“I’ve spent twelve years trying to protect you from something your father did.”

I couldn’t speak.

“What did Dad do?”

Mom reached into the drawer beside my bed.

She pulled out an old photograph.

She handed it to me.

I looked down.

It showed my father.

A much younger Noah’s father.

And two other people standing outside a building I didn’t recognize.

I turned the photograph over.

There was a date written on the back.

The same year Noah and I were born.

“Mom…”

She took the picture from my hand.

“There’s one more thing you need to know.”

“What?”

She looked at me.

And finally told me the secret she’d carried for twelve years.