I call her Cordy.

Grams rolled her eyes. She hates the voice on the app. So do I. But Cordy was the closest thing I had to a friend.

“Becca, what are you—”

I hit the green button on the app. “Do you know where his parents live?” Cordy said again, and this time I raised my eyebrows and put a hand on my hip. I had to double my efforts with physical responses and mannerisms now that I had no other way of getting my point across.

She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes and nodding at the same time.

“Get dressed,” Cordy said, “You’re taking me to them.”

I gathered all the pictures from Tommy’s birthday as well as all the ones of him and Josh and put them in a box, then waited anxiously for Grams at the front door. She seemed to take forever and when she finally appeared, she looked as nervous as I felt. But my anger had out won the nerves and I’m sure she could see that. Especially considering the way my feet stomped across the driveway as I marched to her car, clutching the box to my chest.

She’d barely come to a stop when I got out of the car and marched to his parent’s front door. Josh’s mother answered. “Becca?” she asked, and my breath caught in surprise. She added, “Joshua’s told me a lot about you.”

I hoped he didn’t tell her everything, and going by the lack of pity in her eyes, I highly doubt he did. I tapped my throat, then started typing a message.

“Is Mr. Warden home?” Cordy asked for me.

She nodded.

“Do you know where that fire trucking Natalie lives?”

She nodded again.

“Go get your husband. I’ll be in the car.”

“But—”

I tapped the green button. “Go get your husband. I’ll be in the car.”

“Becca—”

“Go get your husband. I’ll be in the car.”

“Why?”

I sighed, frustrated, my fingers skimming across the screen. “Because it’s time for you both to do what you should’ve done three years ago.”

It took two people—one practically on his deathbed—less time to get ready than it did my grandmother.

Josh’s mom sat in the front seat while his dad sat in the back. Mrs. Warden gave my grandmother directions as they chatted between themselves.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Josh’s mom said. “The case is soon and this could ruin Josh’s chances.”

I rolled my eyes, though no one could see me.

“I’m sorry,” Grams said. “I don’t really know what Becca’s plans are.”

“She’s thinking with her heart,” said his mom. “We need to think with our heads.”

I typed out another message. “I’m mute. Not deaf. I can hear you,” Cordy translated for me.

From next to me, Josh’s dad snorted. “Ella, we’re all sitting on our asses while this young lady is taking action and doing something about it. Let’s just see how it goes.”

As soon as Natalie answered the door the first thing I wanted to do was the exact same thing as the last thing I wanted to do. Punch her. Twice. One on her perfect nose and one on her perfect pouty lips. I didn’t, of course, but I was pretty forceful when it came to pushing her aside and sitting down on her living room couch, my arms crossed, ready for war.

Everyone else was slow to follow behind, probably because they were busy calming down Natalie’s screeches of, “What the hell is she doing here?”

I kept my arms crossed and waited for them all to take a seat. Surprisingly, Henry—Josh’s dad—took the seat next to me. Natalie sat opposite us—her stance matching mine and for the first time ever, I loved fear.

Because it didn’t live in me.

It lived in her.

I opened the lid of the box and emptied its content all over the glass top of the coffee table. Hundreds of pictures scattered all over the place, some falling on the floor.

I pointed at her, then at the pictures. “Look,” I mouthed, and she slowly picked up one, and then another, and another. Her eyes scanned through the memories of Josh and Tommy’s life together—every single moment I was able to capture. Every smile, every laugh, every bit of joy I was blessed to be a part of. Her hand froze mid-movement, her gaze fixed on a picture of Josh and Tommy sitting side by side on my grandmother’s porch, a single skateboard across both their laps. Their heads were thrown back, their smiles identical.

The air turned thick.

The silence deafening.

“You see your son?” Cordy said.

“You see his smile?”

“You see how happy he is?”

She didn’t respond.

“Do you, Natalie?”

She looked up, right into my eyes.

“Do you, Natalie?” Cordy repeated.

Slowly, she nodded.

“The smile on Tommy’s face—the happiness in his life—they don’t belong to you.”

“You don’t deserve them.”

“They belong to Josh.”

“Because he earned them.”

“You haven’t.”

Natalie swallowed loudly, her fingers shaking as she set the photograph down with all the other ones.

Henry cleared his throat. “It’s strange…” he started, and I turned to him. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped together, his head bent and his voice low. “Out of all the people in my son’s life… the only one who has the courage to stand up for him is someone who’s only been in his life a few months.” He sniffed once, his shoulders lifting with the strength of it, but he didn’t look up. “It’s taken almost four years for the people that should’ve been there from the moment you got pregnant to be in the same room together—and this is why… Because of a little boy you gave birth to—my grandson—and we don’t even know him. You got scared and you left. I got scared and I turned him away. I was so afraid for him—afraid that he’d made a mistake and that his life was over and I thought it was my fault—that I didn’t raise him right and I was ashamed. What the hell kind of father does that make me?”