Chapter 23 - Austin’s Name
Austin was seventeen when he contacted Liam.
Not me.
Liam was twenty.
Austin had grown up knowing pieces.
Cynthia told him Jeffrey once believed he was his father.
His biological father Evan later became consistent.
Still, childhood photographs included Jeffrey.
Noelle.
The Buckhead mansion.
A life Austin barely remembered.
He wrote:
I know adults used me to hurt you. I’m sorry.
Liam showed me.
“What do I say?”
“Whatever is true.”
He replied:
You were one. You didn’t do anything.
Good.
They met months later at a coffee shop.
I did not attend.
When Liam returned, he said:
“He’s normal.”
I laughed.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Villain baby grown up.”
“Liam.”
“I’m kidding.”
Then:
“He hates that his name was on all those papers.”
Understandable.
Austin asked whether he had taken money from Liam.
“No.”
The Carter trust never recognized him as beneficiary.
No Liam funds moved.
Cynthia’s false application failed.
Austin carried no financial debt to him.
That mattered.
Then Austin asked:
“Did Grandma Noelle really treat you badly because of me?”
Liam answered:
“She treated me badly because of her. You were just the excuse.”
Perfect.
They did not become brothers.
No forced bond.
They met a few times.
Followed each other online.
That was enough.
Then Liam asked me:
“Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“That I talk to him.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your relationships are yours.”
He smiled.
“You learned that late.”
“Extremely.”
Then he chose college.
Industrial design.
Nothing to do with trauma.
He loved furniture.
The irony was so offensive I laughed for a week.
His senior project?
A modular dining table for small apartments.
When he showed me, I stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re thinking about the table.”
“Yes.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Mom, it’s furniture.”
Exactly.
May you like
That was healing.
A table became a table again.
