I’m Edith, 35, and my son Coby, 10, is my everything. His dad died in a wreck when he was tiny, leaving me broken. Then Dave came along—gentle, loving, raising Coby like his own.
We kept Coby’s real dad a secret, planning to tell him someday. That day never arrived. At 10, Coby started drifting—silent, moody, not himself.
One dinner, he toyed with his pasta, eyes down. “How’s school?” I asked, voice light. “Fine,” he grunted, barely there.
Dave glanced at me, brows knit. “Test okay?” he ventured. “Yeah,” Coby said, fleeing upstairs after a quick excuse.
I stared at his empty seat. “He’s shutting us out,” I told Dave, near tears. “It’s a phase,” he said, but I felt a deeper shift.
His grades crashed—Ds and a C minus. I stepped into his cluttered room. “We need to talk,” I said, sitting close.
“So?” he mumbled, glued to his phone. “What’s wrong?” I pushed. “Nothing—leave me alone!” he snapped, turning away.
His wall was up, unbreakable. I left, crying in the hall. Dave hugged me. “He’ll talk soon,” he said, but soon didn’t come.
At 2:17 a.m., I woke to an empty bed—Dave gone. Coby’s room was empty too, sheets tossed. My chest tightened.
I called Dave—voicemail. I checked our tracking app—they were at Willowbrook Cemetery. Mark’s grave. Coby’s dad.
Why there? I raced over, heart pounding. Had Coby found out? We’d buried Mark’s truth for years.
I parked, spotting a lantern near the grave. Dave and Coby sat there, voices low. “Your dad was stubborn—like you,” Dave said warmly.
Coby leaned in, “What else?” I stepped forward—they turned. “Mom?” Coby said, startled. Dave rose, “I can explain.”
“How’d he know?” I asked, voice trembling. “A kid at school heard you,” Coby said. “Said Dave’s not my dad.”
I’d messed up at a meeting. “I was mad,” he added. “Dave helped me.” Dave nodded, “He wasn’t ready to tell you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, joining them. “No secrets now.” Coby said, “Dave told me—cancer took him, not just the crash.”
“He loved you,” I choked out. “I hid his pictures—wrong move.” Coby smiled, “Dave brought some.”
We sat, the truth settling in. “No more lies,” Coby said, grabbing my hand. Dave agreed, “Home time.”
Coby hugged me by the car. “I love you, Mom.” Dave’s grin promised we’d heal, all three of us.
