As Evelyn’s condition worsened, she became frightened whenever Mark tried to leave. On her bad days, she would grab his arms and chest, not understanding that she was hurting him. The marks I had mistaken for betrayal were really the result of a frightened woman holding on to the only person who made her feel safe. Mark had hidden it because he did not know how to explain that he spent every Wednesday being someone’s lost son. Then he admitted the reason for the sudden trip: Evelyn had passed away two weeks earlier, and he had been grieving alone. Three weeks later, we attended her memorial together. A nurse told me Mark had made Evelyn’s final months beautiful. When Dylan asked why he went every week if she was not really his mother, Mark answered softly, “Because she needed a son for a little while.” And for the first time, I understood: the marks on his skin were not proof of betrayal. They were proof of compassion.