I watch my mother take a long breath before her mouth opens. The whole thing is unreal, but I’m so curious, I sit there and try not to say a word.

She finally looks up at me. “Your father and I had just gotten married. We lived out here at the time, not in Louisiana. We were heading home from work, driving on the I-15 when I started to feel carsick. I never got carsick, honey. Never. But that night, I felt ill. Your dad stopped on the side of the highway so I could get some fresh air. We walked down to a small embankment because I thought I’d throw up, which I did. He ran back to the car to get me some tissues, and…honey, your dad was looking for some tissues from the driver side. He walked around to the trunk when he didn’t find any, and that’s when a distracted guy on a motorcycle hit the open driver door…”

Mom is shaking now. It’s as though she’s reliving the whole thing. “It was horrible. I heard the impact and turned around to see the man’s body thrown from his bike. Your father tried to help him, but the impact…he died instantly. There was so much blood…I was already a nurse at that time, but I couldn’t help him. No one could. We tried to start the car and take him to the hospital. I performed CPR while your dad did everything he could to start the engine. The impact of the crash damaged our car. It wouldn’t start, and back then, neither of us had cell phones. Your father tried to wave down passing vehicles. But nobody stopped…it was horrible.

“And then out of nowhere, we heard the roar of a convoy of bikes. It was members of the Mongols MC. The guy who hit our car was one of their members. They stopped. Someone put him into a sidecar and drove him away. The others blamed your father. They told him if anything happened to the guy, he’d pay for it. A life for a life. We tried to tell them it wasn’t your father’s fault but those men… they just didn’t want to hear it. The next day, they showed up at our house for your father. But someone had looked into him and knew he was an architect with access to a lot of information they felt could be valuable. They told him they’d come calling one day, and that when that day came, he’d be asked to do as he was told to pay off his debt.

“Around when you were two, they showed up at our house again.” Mom starts to shake. Tears fill her eyes. “It was horrible…One of their guys…he was a sadist. I’m so sorry…your father and I tried so hard to stop him. All we ever wanted was to protect you.”

“What did he do? Is that where I got this birthmark from? It’s a scar?”

She nods and bursts into body-wracking sobs that don’t stop for a while. I wait for her to continue. I can’t believe Cindy was right.

“It’s a scar from a cigar burn,” she says when she can speak again. “That man that did that to you was the uncle of the guy that died in the motorcycle crash. The only way he’d be satisfied with letting your father live was if he could make him understand the kind of pain he caused. Your dad… he tried everything. He offered his life to spare you. I pleaded with the man too, but his guys held us down, pointed guns at our heads. Then he did that to you. It was horrible, hearing you cry, knowing the man could stop if he had a heart. After he did it, he had one of his men take pictures of your burn. He kept saying the brand would remind us all about the price of taking a life. He never accepted that what happened to his nephew was a tragic accident. It was easier to blame us.

“After all that, he still held it over your father. The man told him that if he didn’t cooperate, he’d need these pictures to identify your… your dead body. That’s why he left with the Mongols MC that day. Your father never told me exactly what he’d done for them. He was gone for a few weeks, and when he came back home, he said it was over. I know this sounds horrible, but your dad kept begging them to just kill him. That didn’t happen because they weren’t done with him. But your father wasn’t about to keep us here to find out.”

“Was it?”

“I’ll put it this way. We packed up and moved to Louisiana that same night he came back.”

“We moved out there to run?”

“It was more to cut ties. To put some distance between them and us. They never came looking for us for close to two decades. But…” she gives me a somber look but won’t say more.

I have to ask. “Did dad really die in an accident at work three years ago?”

I don’t know what to believe as truth in my life anymore. Cindy made one little tug in the fabric of my past, and everything unravels. And I have to wonder about my father’s death.

“Scaffolding doesn’t just collapse on a Saturday when Dad was the only person at the job site.”

Mom still won’t speak.

“Please tell me the truth.”

“He died at work, love, but you’re right that it probably wasn’t an accident. We just had no proof that the collapse was sabotage. The piece of metal that killed him pierced his heart. He was killed instantly. I’m so sorry you had to learn about it this way. I didn’t see the point of casting doubt on the life he led. After he passed, no one ever tried to look for us. It ended with dad’s passing.”

I move closer and wrap my arms around her. “I’m not happy you kept this from me, Mom, but think I understand why. I forgive you.”

Mom buries her head in her hands and sobs for a long time.

“We should go,” I tell her after a while. “Your rich gossipy friends are probably wondering what happened.”

This is unreal.

When I get back to my car, I take a chance and phone Cindy. She answers on the first ring.

“Hello?” she answers.

“It’s Molly. I spoke to my mother. She told me everything.”

“Good.”

“I just have one question.”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you recognize my scar?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“After the story my mother just told me, trust me, you wouldn’t have the least idea what I’m thinking.”

“It was a different time back then. The MCs had more solid alliances. I remember because I saw the pictures of that scar on your wrist. Someone in the Mongols gave it to Silas’s father because they felt the MC had gone too far by allowing one of their head guys to torture a child. What you should know is the man who did that to you…let’s just say he eventually got a dose of his own medicine, times a thousand.”

“My mother says that our debt was paid, if you still think the Mongols have some claim on me.”

“That’s good. I’m sorry,” she adds in a heavy voice.

“No. Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t know a thing if you didn’t tell me. Thank you.”

We end the call.

I’m not the person I was when I work up this morning.

My past is filled with secrets.

It’s no wonder I’m secretive myself. I cringe about the cigar burn, that it’s another key to the person I am today. I want to push down the idea that maybe it’s why I have this weird fixation with my tolerance for pain, and that I probably got into boxing because somewhere deep down, I still have unresolved emotions that cause my desire to fight.

I don’t know where this information will take me next. Maybe to a couch of a psychiatrist. Or back into the ring after this baby is born.

I wrap my arms around myself, wishing Tate was with me now.