Her eyes snapped up to meet his. All the air was sucked from the room. Mitch felt it leave his lungs and disappear. The moment hung there, weightless yet immovable.

“Marshall.” June’s voice was small and strained, but her eyes were clear. “My boy.”

“Mom.” Ken sprang from his chair and hurried around the table to crouch beside her. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you.”

“I’m so sorry, Marshall. So sorry.” She reached a tentative, shaking hand toward his face but stopped short.

“Go ahead,” Ken said.

She touched his cheek. Touched his hair. “I’ve missed you every day of your life. I’ve thought of you every minute. I’m so sorry.”

Mitch’s neck tensed. Maybe there’d been a mistake. This man’s name wasn’t Marshall; it was Ken. He snuck a glance at his father. His expression was cloudy, his jaw tight. If Mitch had harbored any suspicions that his father knew about Ken before today, they were gone now. What was he thinking? Mitch felt a stab of grief on his behalf. How would he feel if he learned his wife had kept a secret from him for over forty years?

“What happened, Mom?” Mitch glanced at Bea and Jeremy, reading the same desire to know more on their faces.

Rand shook his head. “June, is this true?”

“Please tell us.” Ken stood and pulled his chair over next to June. “Who is my father? Why did you give . . . Why didn’t you keep me?”

Mitch glared. “Don’t push her.”

“It’s all right.” June folded trembling hands in her lap. “There was a boy in my class. A nice boy. I’d never been involved with anyone before, but he promised we would get married. I let it all go to my head. I should’ve known better.”

“He left you?” Ken asked.

She stared past Mitch’s head, as if watching her past play out on the wall. “He enlisted the day after graduation, and I never heard from him again. My parents sent me away to Chicago.”

A pit grew in Mitch’s stomach as she told them about her desperation and humiliation. The young girl she described was nothing like the strong, capable, almost defiant woman he’d always known. The one who never let anyone tell her what to do or where to go or what was best.

“The moment they took you away and wouldn’t let me see you, I knew I’d made a mistake.” His mother’s voice broke. “But it was too late. I did nothing but scream and cry for days, and Aunt Gladys . . . well, she did what she could with me. Eventually, I took a bus home. Everything about Chicago was a reminder.”

She looked at Rand. “That’s when you started paying attention to me. And you were so good and honest and strong.”