My mother woke up the next day.

Her voice was weak.

“Did they find it?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“My boy?”

I didn’t know how to answer.

“He’s alive.”

She wept.

She didn’t ask if he was a good person.

She didn’t ask if he wanted to see her.

She only asked:

“Has he been eating well?”

That question shattered me.

Fifty-something years without her son, and the first thing she cared about was if he had been fed.

Arthur was initially detained for coercion, obstruction, and potential complicity in a cover-up. His lawyer tried to present him as a concerned husband. Brenda put the messages, the calls, his violent arrival at the clinic, and his attempt to remove my mother without authorization on the table.

My mother-in-law called me that night.

“Linda, don’t destroy my son’s life over a lying old woman.”

I felt a newfound calm.

“That old woman is my mother.”