“When I was little, before Jenna was born, Mom and Dad used to take me out into the orchard with them almost every day. Sometimes we’d pick peaches. Sometimes we’d play hide-and-go-seek in the rows of trees. Sometimes we’d walk in the shallow parts of the river. We had breakfast and lunch and dinner together more often than not. Even after Mom got sick, we did a lot together. It was after she got pregnant with Jenna that things got so much worse.”

Surprisingly, there’s no bitterness in his voice. Obviously, he doesn’t resent Jenna for what happened to his mother.

“Her cancer fed on the estrogen. It spread like wildfire while she was carrying Jenna. After she delivered, Mom started chemo and radiation. She took treatment for a couple of years, but the disease was always a step ahead of the cure. The last few months, all the doctors could do was keep her comfortable. Even as young as I was, I knew what was going on. I guess I just didn’t know how much it would change things. And what my new role would be.

“Dad was busy taking care of the orchard and Jenna. Mom was in bed all the time, so I was kind of lost. I spent a lot of time in there with her. I’d color on the floor in her room or play with my cars. Sometimes we’d watch TV together or she’d read me a story. If I ever went out to play, it was always by myself, which was never fun, so I didn’t stay long. I always ended up back in Mom’s room. With her. I got an up close and personal view of what she went through and how miserable she was.”

I listen with rapt attention. My heart bleeds for Jake the child, as well as Jake the man. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for a little Jake to have to watch his mother go through so much, and to have to do it all by himself for the most part. In the midst of it all, everyone got busy with life and Jake got pushed to the side. Forgotten.

“It was nothing unusual for her to ask me to bring her something—ginger ale, ice chips, a washcloth—so the day she asked me to hand her one of her pill bottles, I didn’t think anything of it. I guess some part of me wondered why Dad had started keeping them up in the cabinet rather than letting her take them by herself like she’d always done. But at eight years old, you just don’t really think about stuff like that. So I didn’t hesitate to get them for her.”

Pulse pounding and lip trembling, I have an idea where this is going. It’s all I can do not to cry bitter, heartbroken tears for this man that I love.

“She had me hand her the glass of water that always sat on her nightstand. Then she had me get up on the bed so she could hug me. She told me she loved me and that I would always be her big, strong boy and then she told me to go play outside until dinnertime. So I did.” His pause is deep. And dark. And haunted. “That was the last time I saw her alive.”

I can barely swallow past the lump in my throat. The ache in my chest explodes into an unimaginable spray of sympathy at his next words.

“My mother overdosed. She killed herself. But she didn’t kill herself out of weakness or selfishness. She didn’t do it to end her suffering. She did it to end ours. I once heard her tell Dad that she could live with what she had to go through, but that it was breaking her heart to see what it was doing to us. Dad told her we were fine, that we would always be better off with her around. No matter what. But she didn’t believe it. I could see it in her eyes more and more every day. She thought her life was hurting us. So she took it.”

I’m doing everything I can to let my tears fall in silence, to let Jake have this time, without interruption.

“When Dad found her, he yelled for me to come upstairs. He was sitting on the floor crying, holding Mom in his arms. The pill bottle was still in her hand. All I remember is him screaming at me, ‘You did this! You did this!’ I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t even listen to me. He told me to get out, that he didn’t even want to look at me. So I left. I went back outside for a while.

“For hours, I watched the door. I kept waiting for him to come back downstairs, but he never did. I remember that it got dark and I was so hungry, so I went into the kitchen and opened a can of SpaghettiOs for me and Jenna and we ate ’em cold. Nothing was ever the same after that night.

“She turned four two days later.

“Dad got her a cake and presents, and celebrated like nothing was wrong, but every time he looked at me, I could see how much he hated me. How much he blamed me. It went on like that for a couple of years. Until I finally got up the nerve to ask him about it. He told me he could never forgive me for taking her from him. He said there was something wrong with me. He said I didn’t know how to love the right way, that I only hurt the people I was supposed to care about. He never let me forget it, either. After that day, he only hid his feelings from Jenna. Never from me. He blamed me for everything after that. If Jenna fell off her bike and scraped her knee, it was my fault for not watching her closely enough. If she got in a fight at school, it was my fault for being a terrible big brother. He never said anything in front of her, though. He wanted her to have a good life, one without all the pain we’d known. And so did I. I didn’t want her to have to feel like I did all the time. I even tried not to love her. I was afraid if I loved her like I did Mom, something would happen to her. Like Dad said. So I never did. And nothing bad ever happened to her. I learned early on that the best thing I could do for people I cared about was to stay away from them. To care as little about them as possible. And it’s worked. I haven’t lost another person I loved since the day Mom died. And neither had Dad.”

A sob is torn from my throat. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold it in, but like pressure building up behind a kinked water hose, the dam eventually breaks. And when it does, nothing can control the flood. I bury my face in my hands and let go.

Even behind my hands, behind my closed eyes, I see the picture of Jake’s tortured face. He’s learned not to let his pain show, but for these few seconds, in the quiet night and pale, silvery moonlight, he let me see. And it’s almost too much to bear.

I feel him lean over me and wrap his arms around my shoulders, smoothing my hair with his wide palm. “Shhh,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I wind my arms around his waist, lay my face against his chest and I cry. I cry for Jake. From the deepest, darkest part of my soul, I cry for him. For all he’s been through. For all he’s lost. For a lifetime of feeling he’s to blame. And for a lifetime of missing out on something so simple yet so profound as love.

“Oh God, Jake, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry you’ve been through so much. No one deserves that.”

“It’s over now. I just wanted you to know who I am. Who I was. But that’s in the past now. There’s no need for you to cry.”

I lean back and look into his handsome face. “You’re comforting me?” I reach up to cup his cheeks. “If there was some way I could help, some way I could take away the pain, I would do it, Jake. I would do that for you. I’d give anything to go back and make things different for you. You’ve missed out on so much. So much love and happiness.”

Jake grabs my wrist and turns his lips into my palm then smiles a small smile. “But it’s made me who I am today. And today, I’m a different man. Because of you.” Reaching up to brush his thumb over my cheekbone, Jake’s eyes pour bits and pieces of his heart into mine. “Today, I realized that I’m not the person he thought I was. Today, I realized that I don’t always hurt the people I love. Today, I realized that I’d rather walk into a fire and carry out your father, who hates me, and your fiancé, who’s marrying the woman I love, than to see you hurting for one more second. Today, for the first time in my life, I felt like I could love somebody like they deserved to be loved. Like I could love you the way you deserve to be loved.”