I blink quickly at the thought of looking just like his dead granddaughter. But in their faces now, I see a couple who is still traumatized by their grief.
“We weren’t sure we could go through with it,” my gram continues. “We didn’t want a closer. But when you came to us as Tatum, it was like you were home. Like you never went away.”
“We considered going through the legal channels,” Pop adds. “But we didn’t know where he found you—we had no claim to you. We were scared we would lose you. And you didn’t remember your real family; you were so small.”
“Arthur Pritchard tampered with my memory,” I tell them. “I was small, but I’m sure I remembered something. It’s long gone now.”
“The grief department—Arthur,” Gram says, “knew how to fix the paperwork. And so we agreed to raise you. We struck a deal with Athena so she would stay out of your life. It hurt her too much to see you.”
I flinch at the thought, realizing I’m the ghost of her dead child. No matter how bad of a mom she is, she doesn’t deserve that. It adds an extra layer to every sidelong glance she gives me during the holidays. Every awkward silence when it’s just the two of us in a room.
“Athena’s been able to move on with her life,” Gram says. “She started a new family. And so did we—thanks to you.”
“I wasn’t a solution,” I say. “You should have sought help.”
“I know,” Gram says. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.” Her voice cracks. “I know that makes me a horrible person, but I can’t imagine the alternative. I can’t imagine a life without you.”
“Tatum,” my pop says softly, and I turn to him. “If I can swear one thing to you, it’s that you are and always have been the most important thing in the world to us. We’ve fought for you. And even though we’ve made mistakes”—he winces—“like with the Adjustment, we’ll never make another one. You’re a grown woman. We support you. We’ll do anything for you. All we can ask is that you try to forgive us. We may not deserve it, but we’re begging for it anyway.”
“Of course I forgive you, Pop,” I say, aching for them. This isn’t the kind of pain that would drive me away from them. It brings us closer now that we’re being honest. It makes me want to take care of them.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” I say honestly. “The Program had us all in their grip, and I would have definitely broken down. I do believe you were trying to protect me.”
“We have fought,” Pop says. “And we will continue to fight. Whatever you need, Tatum. Anything at all. Just please...”
“Don’t leave us,” my grandmother adds weakly. I look across the table at her, struck by grief so heavy that I put my hand to my chest. My grandmother looks broken, as if, after thirteen years, I would just get up and walk out, never speaking to them again.
They’re my family. I love them, and they love me.
“I won’t leave you,” I tell her, and she covers her face with both hands and cries. Her shoulders shake, and Pop looks at me, his eyes welled up with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“I know you are,” I say.
“What can we do to help you?” he asks. “What’s going on?”
I can trust them; in fact, I always could. Despite the huge lie of my life, and the Adjustment, they did try to keep me from The Program. They won’t let them take me now, either.
“The Program is coming, Pop,” I say, fear prickling my skin. “And the only way to stop them is to get the cure first. I need help locating someone.”
“Finding people is part of my job. Who am I looking for?”
I rest my elbows on the table. “His name is Michael Realm.”
•••
I sit with my grandparents at the kitchen table for the next hour, telling them everything I’ve learned so far. Even Dr. Warren comes up. Although they knew she was previously with The Program, they didn’t think she was still in contact with them. They truly believed she was trying to help me.
At Dr. McKee’s warning, they never told Dr. Warren that I was a replacement. McKee told them it would be an automatic flag. They also never told her that I had had an Adjustment performed on me.
I asked my grandparents how I got out of The Program in the first place, and they didn’t know that, either. My grandfather had been putting out stories with the local paper in an attempt at influence, but then he and my grandmother were pulled into Dr. Warren’s office. She told them I was getting out but would require follow-up therapy—my possible readmittance to The Program at her discretion. They didn’t strike any deals with her.
So I still have no idea how I got out of The Program.
My grandmother gets up from the table to put on a kettle and make herself some chamomile tea, saying she needs it for her nerves now that we’re all part of the rebellion. I tell my pop that I should call Nathan and let him know we’re okay.
“Yes,” my grandmother says from the stove. “We need to speak to Nathan and apologize for asking him to lie to you. It was unfair of us. Please”—she turns to look at me—“tell him how sorry we are.”
