So I struck the worst bargain of my life. I kept Victor alive, but I made you believe he was a stranger.
Please don’t let Mark put him outside again.
Love you, Mom.”
Confronting Mark
Armed with the letter, I returned to the living room.
Mark was already holding the blue box.
“Put it down,” I said.
He smiled.
“Fiona, you’re emotional.”
“No. I’m finally informed.”
At that moment, Victor stepped through the doorway.
Mark’s face hardened instantly.
“Get him out.”
I stepped in front of Victor.
“His name is Victor. And he’s Mom’s brother.”
The room erupted with shock.
One relative gasped.
“But you told us he was dead!”
Mark’s answer came quickly.
“That was easier.”
“Easier for who?” I demanded.
I lifted my mother’s letter.
“She wrote everything down.”
For the first time, Mark had nothing to say.
The room fell silent.
No one defended him.
No one stood beside him.
Realizing he had lost, he dropped the box and stormed out.
A Seat at the Table
When the door finally closed behind him, I turned to Victor.
For years, I had seen him as an outsider.
A burden.
