“Yeah,” says Braedon. “She’s not a real criminal. She just did one bad thing. Protecting her son.” Braedon hears the words come out of his mouth and feels a stab of pain for not having a mother like that. A protector. He swallows hard.
Emily shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I suppose anyone could do one bad thing.”
Braedon blinks the sting out of his eyes and says, “Yeah, that’s what Dad says. He thinks all people got some good and bad in them so he doesn’t get real judgey when a normally good person does a bad thing. He says it can happen to anyone. It even happened to me when I snuck out with Daniel when I slept over at his house. That’s why I didn’t get in huge trouble. I just have to paint the shed out back.”
“Maybe that’s what happened with your mum. She did one bad thing. Do you think you’ll send her a message?”
“Dunno,” says Braedon. “But I did write to her. I just haven’t sent it. And I might not. Mei said it helps just to write it.”
“Helps what?”
“Helps a person get their thoughts and feelings out.”
“Oh,” says Emily. “Like when people post stuff on social media so everyone can sayhang in thereandso sorryand stuff like that?”
“Yeah,” says Braedon. “I guess.”
“What did you say?”
“Do you want me to send it to you?”
“No, silly,” says Emily. “I want you to read it to me.”
“Oh,” says Braedon. “Okay. Hold on.” Braedon flips over to the document he wrote to his mother. “Can you still see and hear me?”
“Yeah,” he hears Emily say. “Looks the same.”
“Okay. All right.” He swallows.
“Dear Eve,
“My name is Braedon Hawkins. I am twelve years old. I live in the United States. And I am your son. I have a picture ofyou. My dad, Clay Hawkins, gave it to me when I was little. It was taken at the party where you met him. And then a little while ago, I had the idea to use it to search for you, and that’s how I found you.
“I don’t blame you for not raising me. Maybe you were going through a hard time or couldn’t for some other reason. Dad is doing a good job. And I had a nanny who helped when he was away playing football. A few months ago we moved to Minnesota and I have a grandpa and old friends of Dad’s who feel like family.
“You don’t have to write me back if you don’t want to. I don’t want to cause any problems in your life. But if you ever want to, I’ll put my email address and phone number and Snapchat and Insta at the bottom.
“I just want to say hi and say I hope you’re happy and living a good life. And maybe someday, if you want, we could write messages or talk or even meet in person. But only if you want. I promise I won’t bug you.
“Your son…
“Blah, blah, blah.” Braedon flips back to FaceTime and adds, “That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”
“It’s lovely, Braedon.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yeah. It kind of made me cry a little. I hope you send it. You know, someday, when you’re ready.”
“You really think I should?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks,” says Braedon. “Thanks for saying that.”
“Not at all,” says Emily. “Who knows, maybe you and I will go to London one day to visit her.”
“Yeah,” says Braedon. “Maybe. And oh, hey. Whatever happened to your mum and da? After they were fighting? I’ve been so caught up in everything here I forgot to ask. Sorry.”
