My parents, Aiden, and his wife stood there looking at us. In their eyes was regret, shame for not believing what Jackson said, for hastily accusing a 7-year-old without needing to find out the truth. But that regret was too late. I didn’t want to see those faces anymore. Didn’t want to hear any more explanations.
I walked over to the sofa, took my son’s small hand and my wife’s hand. I looked at them and gently said, “Let’s go.” At this point, my parents hurried over. Mom was crying. She grabbed my hand. She said to me, “Brady, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me.” Dad also came forward.
He said, “Brady, I know I was wrong. Give me a chance to make this right. I gently pulled Mom’s hand away from my arm, my voice completely emotionless as I replied. You chose to believe Aiden. You stood there watching Jackson get accused and questioned by the police without defending Jackson at all. You’re no longer Jackson’s grandparents, and I’m no longer your son.
Hearing what I said, mom cried harder. But I didn’t waver. I led Jackson and Helen toward the door. Just as I reached the door, Aiden’s voice rang out from behind, full of frustration. Brady, you’re making too big a deal out of this. It was just a misunderstanding. Hearing Aiden speak, I stopped. I slowly turned back to look at him.
I smiled sarcastically, my voice cold when I said to him, “Let
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