I understand that more now, since, in a sense, I too died a little than night in early January. As the days turned into weeks, then years, that woman who was alive that night died too. She died of grief and shame. She finally confronted her shame and sought help. It took almost a year for her to finally admit her shame and guilt, and learn to live with her mistakes. I am still learning how to get along with the loss of my precious son. I think that if I meet this new man that he has become, I can accept the fact that Jason is gone for good. I promise I will try not to blubber too much when I see you, but I may not be able to hold back. I promise that I will not treat you like I did before Jason left me. I have found that I hate that woman more than I can say. She killed my son, and I have to live with that guilt. But then again, she caused me to have a new son, Ron. We might not have the same last name, but he is still my son and I will love him like a mother should." Mom, we can. She wanted desperately to call him back and talk to him, get a couple of answers, but she couldn't. What neighbor might be listening, watching her? She drove the car into the garage and got out as quickly as possible and went into the safety of her home. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the breakfast table to drink it. The telephone rang. She almost jumped out of her skin, spilling the coffee in the process. She picked up the instrument and said, dully, "Hello."The voice on the phone came to her in a rush, seeming to fill her whole head with a loud roar. "Hello, Marily--if I may call you that--I'm Vivian, Mrs. Aiken from next door. I saw Peter talking to you in the drive way and," Marily gasped, an instant vision of her whole world falling in on her, clouding her mind, then stammered without making sound and then listened as the voice continued, "I'm sure he told you about dinner tonight. So, I'll expect you about seven-thirty and we'll have an early dinner and the.
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