“How did you get this?”

She inhales and looks out onto her glistening pool deck, slowly exhaling. She yanks a tissue from the Kleenex box and blots her eyes.

“A shaving razor of his. Or maybe it was an old toothbrush. I don’t know. Kurt handled all the stuff with the lab people.”

“I would have loved to have seen this sooner,” I say.

“If I turned around and gave you this, if I told you that your late husband has a child with another woman and I have proof, then what? How do you move on from that, Charlotte? I know the connection you and Decker had. He was infatuated with you. He put you first. I never thought a son could love a woman more than his own mother. He proved me wrong. You had a beautiful connection, you two, truly meant for one another.” She grabs my hands, wrapping both of her palms around them. “I want that again for you, Charlotte, but I’m not ignorant of how hard that will be. Decker was so special and I’m not just saying that because I’m his mother, I promise. Aiden would only ground you to a memory of something that is over and not ever coming back. And what if you couldn’t see Decker the same way after knowing about this? I’m forever bound to him. Let these messy imperfections, let the heaviness, the sadness, the grief be my cross to carry. That’s the whole reason we agreed to keep this between us, put distance between you, and protect you so that you could just...move on.”

I believe Debbie. I believe the tears falling down her no-makeup face. I believe that the hardened exterior, the choice to put him in a mausoleum one hundred miles away, the visits that stopped, the communication that was curt, that all of it was just a cover-up for a master plan—not concealing a secret for the sake of withholding information from the girl who was no longer part of the family, but rather a combined effort to campaign for Charlotte to be okay—for once and finally, all at the same time.

My eyes connect with a framed photo sitting on an end table. It’s of Debbie, Kurt, and Decker from Christmas nearly twenty years ago. From their matching sweaters, to their bright white smiles, to the kitschy North-Pole-themed backdrop that’s hanging behind them, it all screams “perfection.” But I notice something else. Evidence that secrets—especially the ones not meant to hurt anyone—are everywhere we look, even when we don’t see them. This isn’t a signature of the Austin family, this is real life, and not acknowledging that means I’m living in a dream world of sorts.

That is when I feel him.

I feel Decker around me in the most undeniable way.

My life flashes before me like pages in a flipbook.

A job that I’m good at and that I love, whether it loves me back right now or not.

A decent apartment with a roommate who splits the rent, even if she’s a little pissed at me right now.