Toby? Kid looks exactly like you did at that age.”
I opened the photo he’d sent, then zoomed in without meaning to hold my breath.
Toby had both arms wrapped around a woman’s neck, his face pressed into her shoulder. She looked to be in her early thirties, dark curly hair pulled back, one hand cradling the back of his head like she’d done it a hundred times before, tears streaking down her face.
Desmond texted again: “Farmers market on 5th. Who is she?”
Toby didn’t hug strangers. He barely tolerated hugs from his own grandmother. And there he was, holding onto a woman I’d never seen in my life like he never wanted to let go.
I called Renee instead of answering my cousin.
First call, no answer. Second call, same thing.
By the time she finally picked up, almost twenty-five minutes later, I was already standing by the
front door with my keys in hand.
Silence on the line first.
“Desmond just sent me a picture of Toby at some farmers market, hugging a woman I don’t know. You told me you two were at your dad’s rehab facility.”
Renee exhaled slowly. “Mark, please don’t assume the worst before you hear me out.”
“Then tell me who she is.”
“I can’t do this over the phone.”
“Try.”
More silence.
“Please. Just wait until we’re home. You’ll meet her. I’ll explain everything, and it’s not what it looks like.”
After she hung up, I set my keys down and opened the photo again. I kept coming back to Toby’s face in it. He wasn’t confused or scared. He looked completely at peace in that woman’s arms, the way he only ever looked wrapped around me or Renee.
Renee hadn’t just lied about where they’d gone. She’d taken our son
