He nodded.
“You didn’t build what you saw tonight.”
His expression tightened.
“Jonah did that. His friends helped him. His teachers and therapists supported him. People believed in him and showed up for him.”
I paused.
“You made your choice seventeen years ago. Jonah built his life afterward. Those are two different things.”
Marcus swallowed.
“I know.”
“And if you’re thinking about contacting him now, don’t assume he’ll welcome you simply because you’re his father.”
“I understand.”
“He’s an adult. He gets to decide what kind of relationship, if any, he wants with you.”
Marcus nodded again.
For a moment, I remembered the younger man who had promised we’d face our son’s diagnosis together.
I didn’t feel victorious seeing him like this.
I simply understood that he was confronting years he couldn’t recover.
“Take care of yourself, Marcus,” I said.
“You too, Susan.”
I collected my coat and left.
Outside, Chicago’s cold air felt refreshing.
My phone vibrated.
Jonah wanted to know whether I’d gotten home safely.
I told him I was leaving.
He said he’d enjoyed the evening and would call tomorrow.
I smiled.
That ordinary exchange meant more than anything Marcus had said.
I thought our conversation had ended there.
Three weeks later, I discovered Marcus had made another decision.
This time, he had contacted Jonah directly.
CHAPTER 3
Jonah called one afternoon while I was finishing some work.
We talked about Clear Path’s latest projects, a possible hospital partnership, and the difficulties of managing a growing company.
Then he said, almost casually, “By the way, Mom, I got a message from Marcus.”
I stopped.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“How did he contact you?”
“Through the company’s website. The general inquiry form.”
Marcus had identified himself as Jonah’s father and asked whether they could meet.
For a moment, I pictured him sitting at a computer, searching for a way to reach the son whose messages he’d ignored for years.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I already responded.”
I sat down.