She pretends she doesn't know.
Neither Harry or Dexter ever tells her, so she assumes she isn't supposed to know. Decides it's best to delude both them and herself into not knowing. Into innocence.
She pretends not to notice the inordinate amount of time Harry and Dexter spend together, far more time than any regular antisocial kid should want to spend with his father. She pretends not to notice the sporadic yet all too frequent disappearances of the neighbors' pets. She pretends not to notice the aching hunger in her son's eyes that no amount of a mother's hugs, homemade chocolate cakes, or gentle pushes towards inviting school friends over can satiate.
She doesn't ever learn the truth of what is, but neither can she unlearn the truth of what isn't.
So the truth of the isn't remains: that hers is not the normal and happy family she dreamed of.
But she goes on slathering her family with hugs and baking chocolate cakes and feigning ignorance. Pretending all this will heal these wounds that her family has received, and these wounds that her family has created.
These wounds that she knows Harry and Dexter must believe she never sees.
A/N: Reviews are love.