Tyler opened the door.
My little brother stood outside.
He was 45 now, with gray at his temples and lines around his eyes. He had gained weight, but I knew him immediately.
It was Michael.
Alive.
I didn’t hug him.
I had only one question.
“Did Mom ever know?”
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His eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Michael explained that when he disappeared, he was drowning in debt. He’d lost his job and was ashamed. He convinced himself that disappearing would free everyone from the problems he’d caused.
He abandoned his car, left town, and started over.
He always planned to come back.
But one year became two.
Two became ten.
And every year he stayed away made returning harder.
“Mom called hospitals for you,” I said.
“I know.”
“She kept your room the same for six years.”
“I know.”
