I'm already shaking my head. "For what?"
"For..." he says, his face pinching. "For lashing out.
"No, it's okay, son. I understand."
"I know," Liam shrugs, looking at the fire. "But Mama says that understanding where it comes from doesn't excuse it."
I murmur, "Your Mama's smart."
"What's... wrong?" Liam asks, his voice unsure. I tilt my head in question. "I mean, like..." he vaguely gestures to his own head.
"Oh," I sigh, before continuing. "Well, my doctor diagnosedme with PTSD, and she thinks I have symptoms of OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I have thoughts in my head—really, awful thoughts that happen without my permission."
"What kind of thoughts?"
"About Mama dying."
Liam's eyes widen, and I realize I probably just voiced one of his own fears. God knows I'm terrified about my own mom dying.
"They're fears, Liam. Not facts. Your Mama is okay, she's not going anywhere."
Liam's face relaxes only slightly. "So, you just... think about her dying a lot?"
"I'm terrified of her dying like..."
Realization hits his face. "Like Aunt Carrie."
"Yes," I whisper. "But... also, something really bad happened, and it frightened me. I'll tell you about it later, one day, but... everything is okay now. I'm going to my doctor, my therapist, and I'm taking medicine. I'm talking about it. I'm getting better, but if you have any questions, you can always come to me. Always."
Liam watches me for a long moment before he nods, his eyes dropping down to the fire.
"I didn't read the letter yet."
"That's alright," I soothe him, but he shakes his head.
"I should have," Liam fidgets, looking guilty now. "I have to apologize for something else."
I nod, encouraging him. "I said... some really mean things about you to Noah... about your mental illness. I was wrong, and I'm really sorry, Dad."
My heart swells in my chest at his words and the genuine apology in them. I didn't even know about this, and I wouldn't have known about this unless Liam told me. Whatever he said to Noah, I know it was not coming from cruelty, because Liam isn't cruel.
He's a good kid, but that's what he is—a kid. He's going to make mistakes, he's going to say the wrong things, and it's upto us, his parents, to correct them.
The problem is, I've been leaving Wendy to handle all of that, using the excuse of feeling that she's more competent.
Yeah, she's competent because she actually tries and has experience doing it. Her being competent doesn't excuse my incompetence.
Parenthood is a partnership, and Wendy shouldn't just be seen as the default parent while I'm the fun parent. Not anymore.
"Thank you," I choke out, not fighting the tears that fall down my cheeks. "I forgive you. I love you, Liam."
Liam sniffs and wipes his face, another tear trailing down his cheek. He nods, "I love you too, Dad."
Without another word, I stand up and walk around the fire toward him. Liam glances up at me and stands too.
Jesus,this close, I can really see how much my son has grown, how much I've missed. My fourteen-year-old is almost in high school, and he really does look so much like me.
Same messy dark hair, same dark brown eyes, same jaw, same nose, but his smile—that's all Wendy.
