I Paid His Down Payment, But My Son Thanked His Stepmom Instead Chapter 02

I stared at it for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it down.

I’d leave it for the next family. Let them think a family like ours once lived here.

Rourke was twelve when we divorced.

The judge asked who he wanted to live with—his dad or me.

He looked at me for a long time. So long that I thought he was going to walk over to me.

In the end, he went and stood behind his father.

I didn’t blame him.

His father could afford private tutors and send him to the best private schools.

All I had was a substitute teacher’s paycheck and a little house with a leaky roof.

Back then, I kept telling myself he’d understand someday.

He grew up. He learned plenty about the world—just never this.

My phone rang again. It was Junie Pardo, the young woman who worked at the retirement community.

“Ms. Marchetti, we’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. All packed?”

“All set.”

“Great.”

She paused. “I see you left the emergency contact blank. Want to put your son down?”

I thought about it for a moment.

“No, he’s just gotten married. He’s got a lot going on.”

Junie chuckled on the other end.

“I saw your social media post. The wedding looked lovely.”

“Your son’s so handsome. Looks like a good guy—someone you can count on.”

“How could he let his own mom move in alone?”

I didn’t answer.

After I hung up, the house fell silent again.

Junie didn’t know the truth.

At that lively wedding, nobody knew who I was.

And even if they did, to them I was just the woman who took two hundred grand from her ex twelve years ago and walked out on her son.

Even Rourke believed that.

The next morning, Junie arrived right on time at nine.

She was petite, with her hair tied back in a ponytail.

The moment she stepped inside, she started helping me carry the boxes.

“Is this really all you’ve got?”

“Yeah. It’s enough.”

Thirty years, packed into three boxes.

Before leaving, I glanced back at the refrigerator.

The crayon drawing was still there, with three little figures holding hands.

I gently pulled the door shut behind me.

On the drive over, I saw a post my son had put up in the middle of the night.

It was a family photo.

He and his bride stood in the middle, Barrett and Tamsin on either side, all smiles.

The caption was just one line.

“Thank you, Dad and Tamsin, for giving me a complete family.”

Over a hundred likes. I liked it too.

The retirement community was on the outskirts of town. My room was small, with a south-facing window overlooking a crepe myrtle tree.

While Junie helped me make the bed, she found the bracelet box and an old photo in one of my boxes.

In the photo, a little boy sat on my shoulders, holding up a pinwheel.

“Is this your son? He’s adorable!”

She looked at the photo, then at me.

After a long pause, she asked, “Is something going on between you and your son?”

The crepe myrtle outside the window was in full bloom.

I sat on the edge of the bed and thought for a moment. Then I started from the beginning.

When I married Barrett, he was a junior technician running between construction sites.

We rented a place barely bigger than a studio apartment. Whenever it rained, we had to set out buckets to catch the leaks.

I substitute-taught music at an elementary school.

After work, I gave piano lessons at people’s homes—fifty bucks a lesson.

Later, Barrett said he wanted to start his own construction business.

I pawned the gold pendant my mother left me and borrowed thirty grand from coworkers—that was his first round of startup money.

Rourke was born around that time.

He was a sickly kid, running fevers every other week. I’d hold him and sit in the hospital hallway all night.