The Stowaway

XXXIX

"True forgiveness is when you can say, "Thank you for that experience." Oprah Winfrey

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XXXIX.

Tom had carried the weight of his mother's abandonment for two decades. He had since always allowed that one event to dictate his every relationship, his every interaction, and his own self-worth.

Until Eliza.

Eliza had opened his eyes, his mind, and his heart, with a snap of her fingers. The dazzle in her smile, and her effervescent wit had brought him out of the depths of his own mental prison.

Tom loved her. He loved her for dozens of reasons, and one of them was because she had helped him to see that he was a person worthy of happiness, just as any other man.

But that did not mean his demons had all vanished.

It was Eliza's idea, and Tom had seen the sense in it immediately. He could not lie and say the thought had never crossed his mind, but he had never had the courage to venture to this house by himself. Only with her hand in his could he raised his clenched fist to the door and knock three times.

He was not at all certain that she would even be there. This had been the house that Roger Hughes had owned twenty years ago. Lord, she could even be dead, and he would not have known.

His own house, the house that he had lived in with his parents before it was lost, was only minutes away.

This house was small, but manageable, and was serviced by a short pier a few hundred feet away, where Roger Hughes' boat had once been moored. It was not there, so Tom assumed the man had either sold it to support his drinking habit, or he was out on the water fishing.

The door opened a moment later, and Tom stopped breathing. It was her. She was older, but it was her. Her once dark hair was now streaked with grey, and the lines on her face were deep and permanent. She would be in her fifties now, and she looked as though she had worked hard all her life. She had always been tall in his memories, but as a grown man, he could now see that she was small, and weak, and entirely dependent.

There was no recognition in her brown eyes. She did not know him, and every part of Tom's being wanted him to turn around and run, but Eliza held him there. With her other hand, she held onto his arm, letting him know that she was with him.

Mary Hughes' eyes flicked between them as she frowned. "Can I help you?" she asked them gruffly. Her apron was dirty, suggesting that she was in the middle of a chore.

It did hurt Tom that she didn't recognise him. But then, maybe she had forgotten about him. Maybe she had forced herself to forget about him.

"I think we have the wrong house," muttered Tom, looking down at Eliza as he motioned for her to turn around.

Eliza knew from the look in his eyes that this woman was indeed his mother, and she stubbornly held her ground. "Good morning, ma'am," she greeted with a cool voice. "My name is Eliza Banes, and this man is my fiancé. May I ask, is your husband at home?"

Mary still seemed very confused, and rightly so. "No. He died last winter," she replied, to which Tom's eyes widened.

Roger was dead? The foul-smelling degenerate who had seen to it that his mother had abandoned him was dead. Probably in hell, where he belonged.

Mary noticed Tom's reaction and frowned. "Did you know him, sir?"

Sir? The woman who had birthed him had just called him sir. A chill ran down his spine as his anger stirred in his belly.