“No!” He slams his hands on the coloring sheet. “I’m stupid! I can’t even color right!”
“Easy, munchkin. There’s nothing wrong with?—”
“Yes, there is!” He sweeps the counter with his arm. All his beloved crayons clatter to the ground. “There’s something wrong with me! Dad was right! I’m stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Just like that, he starts hitting himself on the head.
I fly into emergency mode. He hasn’t had an episode in ages, but I should have known it was coming. Should have known it was only a matter of time before all his stress about Brad bubbled up to the surface.
“Hey,” I whisper, gently grabbing hold of his hands to keep him from hurting himself. “Enough of that, okay? Breathe.”
He’s red-faced now, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why can’t I be normal, Mommy?”
Normal.I never use that word. Not to describe people—not to describehim.The things he is, the things he’s not. His therapist and his teachers were adamant that comparisons were going to be a problem growing up, and that it was important to foster a language that didn’t lean into that.
But I do remember who used it.
Brad.
For three endless months.
“He’s not normal.”
“There’s something wrong with him.”
“He’s stupid, just like you.”
“Baby, look at me.” I brush blond curls out of his sweat-slick forehead. “There is nothingwrong with you. Nothing, okay? No matter what anyone says.”
He shakes his head frantically. “But Dad said?—”
“No ‘buts.’ He’s wrong.”
“He’s right! I’m stupid and dumb and can’t even do the easy stuff!”
“Then so am I. He said that about me too, remember?” I cup his face with both hands. “So if you’re dumb, I’m dumber.”
“You’re not dumb, Mommy.”
“Then neither are you.” I force a smile. “Either he’s right about both of us, or he’s wrong about both of us. AndIthink he’s the biggest dummy of all.”
Eli looks up at me. His eyes are red, shiny with tears. I hate seeing him like this—hate seeing him suffer because of that horrible, horrible man.
I should have done a better job at keeping him out of our lives.
“I don’t want to go live with him, Mommy.” He’s talking about what Brad said that day at the school gates. It breaks my heart that he’s so terrified of that man. All because I couldn’t protect him. “I want to stay with you and Yulian.”
Yulian.More guilt pierces my chest. If I hadn’t lied to him—if I hadn’t destroyed the evidence of Brad’s involvement with Prizrak—Brad would be out of our lives by now. For good.
But Eli would have lost a father.
No matter how awful Brad has been to him, no one can replace what he is. He’s Eli’s blood—that can’t be erased. One day, Eli will grow. He will have the means to confront Brad, to get the closure he needs to move forward.
And if he wants a relationship with him, of any kind, then he deserves that, too. Once he’s older.
But not now.
Because now he’s fragile. He’s young and impressionable and doesn’t have the antibodies for the poison that Bradley Baldwin is.
