Page 2 of Protected By the Sinner

“Nope. Coach gave the team the day off. His wife’s having a baby.”

“May God bless her!” she says.

“Did you want more kids?” I never considered that before, but now that I think about it, my mom seems like she was born to care for others.

She looks at me, and her face turns red.

Why? It was a simple question.

“Yes, but God didn’t bless me with more children. I’m happy with just you.”

I don’t push it, realizing my question has upset her.

Does she have a physical condition that’s kept her from having more kids? If so, she’s never showed any sign.

I’m not really that hungry, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I eat everything she brought.

“Was the omelet good? And the bacon, was it crispy the way you like?”

“Yeah. Everything was delicious. I’d been dreaming about it,” I lie.

She walks over and kisses my forehead, picks up the tray, and tells me to get up or I’ll be late for my 9 a.m. class.

I watch her leave and think about what’ll happen to her once I move out and she’s stuck with that bastard. Because as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m not living under the same roof as that piece of shit anymore.

I love my mom. Maybe not as much as she deserves, but I do my best to be a good son, trying to balance out the fact that her husband is pure garbage.

Sometimes I feel guilty, thinking I don’t have enough affection for her. I can’t explain it, but it’s like something inside me stops me from hugging or kissing her the way she deserves. I’ve tried to change that, but I can’t, so I just pretend she’s the most important person in the world to me, when in truth, no one holds that place.

New York

Twenty Years Later

“Forgive me,” my mother says, and all I can think is how incredible it is that she can still speak despite being so weak.

I feel my face tighten with tension.

She’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.

And why is she asking for forgiveness? She did nothing wrong. She was a victim of the bastard I called father for so long.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Mom. Don’t strain yourself. I don’t care about words.”

A tear rolls down her cheek. “You don’t understand, Beau. He killed your family. You’re not our biological son.”

I don’t take her words seriously. She must be delirious. I look around the luxurious hospital room, searching for a nurse, but no one’s nearby. I start to stand from the chair I placed by the bed. But before I can move away, she grabs my arm.

“No, Beau. Listen to me, son. I don’t have much time left, and I need to tell you the truth or God won’t welcome me into heaven.”

“Mom—”

“I’m not crazy. I know what I’m saying. He destroyed your family.”

“Who destroyed my family? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Landon.”

“Landon’s a worthless scumbag, but he’s my father. Your husband. How could he have destroyed my family when you two are the ones who gave me life?” I know we don’t have any relatives. Her words have to be a result of her condition.