didn't say a word, just slowly backed out of the room and closed the door. I heard his footsteps r

I was to do a follow-up story on a past listener who had called into the station years ago. The segment was called "Where Are They Now?"

turned eighteen, I packed a bag and moved in with my grandmother. My mother had found a new husband, built a new lif

, neat house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I knocked on the door. A woman opened it. She

member. That was a long time ago." She invited me in. As I stepp

y mother. She looked older, her hair now str

er face draining of all colo

looked between us, confused.

oice barely audible. Her eyes were wide with

id, my own vo

ound my mother. "Honey, who' s this?" he asked. The boy, who looked about si

she said, her voice cold and sharp. "She' s from the radio station. She' s here for an interview. She' s

the family she had built without me, was a unique kind of cruelty. I

ocating. I got home and collapsed onto the couch, sobbing. Ethan ca

, his voice distracted as h

m the words to tell

sorry about last night. I get it. I messed

ew minutes later, he said, "I ordered

my tears stopping. "I

sed. "What? No, you d

said, my voice dead. "You were there when I had the all

years, and he didn' t even remember something so fundamental about me. In that