“Oh, Ivy, no one could have known, darling,” my mother says amid sobs.

Ivy’s voice is low and I can’t make out what she says.

“You don’t know how it hurts me that you had to go through that,” my mother tells her.

“Charlotte, I’m so sorry to come over like this. I just didn’t know what to do. Xander won’t answer my calls. I can’t believe Damon made his father’s will public. I heard him on the phone with his attorney, completely shocked that Xander was in the will and the marriage clause wasn’t. I guess Josh changed his will, or Damon was told incorrect information. I don’t know. But as soon as he was behind the microphone making that announcement about the will, I knew I had to be with Xander. But now that I’m here I’m afraid he won’t forgive me.”

With my mother’s sobs weighing me down and Ivy sounding so emotional, I can’t stand to stay hidden listening any longer. I swing around the corner, almost manic. My mother turns toward me and I meet her gaze. Her face is full of concern and love, whereas I know mine must be a picture of confusion. She rushes over to me as I stand in a daze.

“Xander!” She pulls me in for a tight embrace. Then she pulls away and clutches my face in her trembling hands. “Xander.” She begins weeping again.

I shift on my feet, not sure what to ask. Not sure I want to know anything. I take a step back and nearly collide with the doorframe. The moment is awkward, and for the first time in my life I don’t know what to say to my mother.

Ivy clears her throat. “I’m going to leave you two alone. Thanks for talking to me, Charlotte.” I meet her gaze and her sad eyes, but I can’t talk to her now. I wish I could think of a way to let her know I know what she did and why she did it—I hope she understands I’m telling her I get it.

“Ivy, don’t go yet,” my mother manages, but I see Ivy turn and leave the room, then hear the click of the door. My mother is in such a state that her tears won’t stop. She’s sobbing so hard that her breathing is out of control.

“Take it easy, Mom,” I whisper.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come. That you’d never talk to me again. I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to explain everything to you.”

I take her hand and lead her to the sofa. “Sit down, Mom. I’m going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.” She tries to stop me, but she’s so hysterical I can’t even understand what she’s saying. I hate seeing her like this—because of me. I pour some water in a glass and gulp it down, then fill another and take it to her. She drinks it, and once she sets the glass down, she takes my hands.

She looks at me helplessly. “I want you to hear the truth from me. I should have been the one to tell you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them to look at her. “I’m ready.”

With a deep sigh, my mother starts to explain. “I never told any of you that your father and I spent some time apart before we were married. That was a dark time for me. I was lost and alone. I had dated your father all through high school, and then we broke up shortly after he left to go on tour. I missed him terribly. Dylan and Damon went to UCLA with me. We were friends, but I had allowed Damon to fill my head with stories of what it must be like on the road. I loved Nick so much, but jealousy tore us apart. After we broke up I spent a lot of time with Dylan and Damon. I started to date Dylan, but it didn’t last long. Once we broke up—well, Damon—he was there for me. He made me think he was taking care of me—that my well-being was what mattered to him. He made himself trustworthy, he was a friend, a confidant even. And then one day he turned on me. Even now his name is a painful reminder. I never say it. Never talk about him or his brother. I let it go—I had to. But I’ll never forget . . .”

“Mom, you don’t have to go on. It’s okay.” My voice fades, but I know she hears it. She seems to forget I’m there, even though her story continues.

“I woke up the morning of Dylan’s death with a feeling of terrible anticipation—something had startled me out of what I thought was a horrifying dream. I sat up and realized I wasn’t in my own bed. My stomach was in knots from one too many drinks the night before. I groggily scanned the area for clues, trying to remember why I was in Damon’s room.” Her voice goes hoarse and I hand her the glass of water again.

“Damon rushed into the room—opening the door and closing it behind him just as quickly. He spoke haltingly as he opened the blinds and let the light flood the room. His tone was unusually grim and his haste caught me off guard. He told me he took care of everything. I didn’t know what he meant. I was scared. Shivering, I pulled the covers up closer to me and asked him what he was talking about. But even as the words left my mouth, hazy memories of what had happened came rushing back to me. I looked out the huge window at the daylight and tried to piece together where the previous night had led.” She stops again and I’m feeling poisoned by my own thoughts. Sitting up straighter, I try to calm my breathing so I can speak, but she starts again before I can say anything.

“After a few moments I cleared my dry throat and told him I had been out with my girlfriends and I’d had a little too much to drink. I’d called Dylan from the bar to see how he was doing. We had run into each other earlier that day and he looked terrible, so I wanted to check on him. He had asked me to come over and I couldn’t say no. When I got there he cried for me to take him back and when I refused he was so upset. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen so I thought it best that I leave. I told Damon that when I tried, Dylan begged me to stay, so I did.”

I feel sick—my head is pounding and I’m not sure I want to hear any more, but my mother seems intent on telling me the whole story.

Swallowing, she goes on, but the words stick in her throat. “He was a mess and he needed someone. Please don’t judge me, Xander.”

“I’m not, Mom, I’m not. I promise,” I assure her. Because I am certainly in no place to judge.

“I started to feel sick when I was telling Damon what had happened—I felt so incredibly hungover, so I slowly edged toward the bathroom, but I stopped at the dresser to look in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my eyes deeply shadowed, and my face pale, but what concerned me most was Damon’s reflection staring back at me—the crease in his brow and the anger in his eyes scared me.”

And once again my mind entertains thoughts of wanting to kill him.

She goes on. “The rest happened so fast. Damon told me Dylan was in the hospital, I’ll never forget the icy-cold edge to his voice. I looked at my hands and saw red stains and I screamed. Just then the phone rang and he answered it. The expression on his face darkened as he hung up the receiver. In that instant I felt like I had to get out of there. For the first time I was afraid of him. As I moved, the room started spinning, but I managed to make my way to the door. I swung the door open to the family room, the room I had been in the previous night. He caught me before I crossed the threshold and told me Dylan had died and I cried as I ran out of his bedroom and the nightmare of the previous night set in. The last thing I remember is the floor rushed up to meet me and unconsciousness consumed me.”

My mother pauses and seems to snap out of whatever trance she was in. “When I woke up I was home alone. He had brought me home. I remembered everything then. Dylan had gotten up and a few minutes later I heard a thud. I ran into the living room and there he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He must have fallen and hit his head on the coffee table. A syringe was on the floor next to him. Damon came in as I hovered over him and found us. He called for an ambulance and they came and took Dylan to the hospital. Damon stayed with me. Dylan died of an overdose before Damon made it to the hospital. Nick flew back for the funeral and we went for coffee and started talking. We kept talking even after he left again and we ended up reconciling while he was still on the road. He even asked me to marry him over the phone. He was always so impatient. God, I loved that man.” She pauses again, taking another breath and squeezing my hand. “After Nick left again to get back on the road, Damon kept coming around, but his mood was darker, grimmer. I thought it was because his brother had died and I didn’t want to turn my back on him. One day he asked me about Nick and I told him we were back together. It was like a switch went off. He started blaming me for Dylan’s death. He’d call me and ask if I wanted to go to dinner one minute and when I’d say no he’d ask if I wanted to go to jail. I knew what he was doing—he was trying to scare me into marrying him. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong—but I still worried.”

“What made him finally leave you alone?” I ask.

“He didn’t right away. First, he tried to convince me to marry him, and when that didn’t work he threatened me. But my father overheard our conversation and when he asked me about it, I broke down and told him everything. My father intervened and after that I never heard from Damon again—I honestly don’t know what happened.”

My ribs ache from breathing so erratically as I listened to my mother. I take a good look at her for the first time since sitting down next to her. She’s wearing tan linen pants that look like they’ve been slept in. Her white blouse looks rumpled and is covered in coffee stains. Her naturally long brown hair is messy and her eyes are swollen. Seeing her like this . . . I can’t fight what’s in me. I want to be mad, upset, yell at her, curse the day she gave birth to me, but she’s my mother and I love her. I’ve always looked after her, protected her, and I can’t change that now.

The words just slip out. “It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t tell me,” I tell her.

She takes a deep breath and her tears start to wane, but her chest seems to be heaving at a greater rate. I draw her into my arms and kiss her hair.

“We’re going to be okay, Mom. Don’t cry.”

She wraps her arms around me in return and rocks me back and forth. In her comforting arms everything I’ve been feeling melts away. This woman loves me for who I am. After a beat, I pull away and wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Xander, Nick will always be your father. Please tell me you know that.”

I don’t say anything.

“I wanted to tell you about Dylan, but once you knew, you couldn’t unknow it. And I just knew it would have mattered to you so much more than it should have. You were always my and Nick’s firstborn. You were his son and he loved you.”

My words come out as the question of a young boy. “Did you love my father, my real one?”

“Nick’s your real father, Xander. Dylan and I had a short and turbulent relationship and he died before he ever knew about you. So Nick—he is your real father.”

“Did he know? Nick, I mean?”

“Yes, of course he knew.”

“How could it not have mattered to him?” I ask, looking into her eyes—the eyes that none of us had inherited. Mine are more brown, like his, I’m sure, and River’s and Bell’s are greener, like Nick’s.

“Your father and I loved each other, and the time we were apart took its toll on both of us. Once we were finally back together, we vowed we’d never let anything tear us apart, and I tried to keep that promise.” She cries a little more and her words trail off. She doesn’t have to finish. Walking over to the mantel, she lifts a crystal-framed photo of River, Bell, and me. “When I told your father I was pregnant, he stared at me for the longest time. We both knew whose baby it had to be. I expected anger, or worse. But instead he put a protective hand on my belly and with a calm and certain voice he said, ‘We’re going to have a baby, Charlotte, so now you have to marry me.’ That’s what he said.”

“How do you not hate me?” I ask her.

“Why would I ever hate you? You’re my son. I love you. You healed me.”

At her words my gut wrenches. I swallow hard. “Healed?”

“Healed, mended, made me the person I wanted to be. You made me grow up and, Xander, I loved my life with your father. I loved him. I know he had his flaws and I know you saw him in a way that highlighted those flaws, but he was a good man. He loved us. He loved you, Xander. You were his son. It made no difference whose blood ran through your veins. And I think he was more afraid of you finding out and not loving him than anything else. He was so proud of you. He loved you so much.”

I wince at the raw emotion in her statement and stare at her, at a loss for words. I hated my father for so long I never looked at the good in him. I buried those memories the day he killed himself. But he was my father, not the man with the brown eyes, but the one with the green ones. And he loved me. He did.