I let out a breath and smile. “Daddy’s still working. I just wanted to hear your voice. Are you being good forbisnonniandbisnonna?” I ask, using the Italian translations for great-grandfather and great-grandmother, respectively. My grandparents are the most amazing people in the world. They help out with Leo as much as they can to save me the cost of having to pay for a babysitter, but they’re in their 80’s, and I can’t rely on them forever.
My own parents haven’t expressed any interest in seeing their grandchild. When my ex-wife was pregnant with him, I’d called them to share the news, but they couldn’t have cared less. I don’t know why I thought they would want to meet them.
That was the last time I ever spoke to them, and from that day on I’ve never cared to call them again. I deleted their numbers from my phone even though I had them memorized, erased the handful of pictures I had of them from my cloud and burned all the physical ones from my childhood.
After Leo’s mom died, I thought about reaching out again—I don’t know why, honestly—but every time I reached for my phone, I thought better of it. My grandparents told them about her passing, and they offered their condolences to me through them, but they still never called me.
I tried not to let it bother me, but it’s hard when all I’ve ever done was exist. They were the ones who brought me here, and yet, they act like I’ve ruined their lives.
It’s fine. I don’t need them, and neither does Leo. Mynonnoandnonnahave done more for Leo and I than my own parents, and they’re the only grandparents he needs, as far as I’m concerned.
“I’m being good,” he says happily, and I can hear Nonna in the background calling him for dinner.
“You go eat, Leo. I probably won’t see you until tomorrow morning. I love you, okay?”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
I had no idea that that would be the last time I spoke to my little boy.
The call came hours later. Another house responded to the fire at my grandparents’ house. Brian, the Captain, called me to let me know the news.
The neighbors’ doorbell and backyard cameras caught a man breaking into the house through the kitchen. My grandparents were on their front porch watching the sun set, as they’ve always done for the forty years they’ve been married. Of course, we can’t see what happened inside of the house, but we could see a bright light in the kitchen window, which means the fire was started in there.
The fire had spread quickly, I’m assuming with the help of gasoline.
Unfortunately, Leo’s bedroom was right next to the kitchen and was quickly consumed by the flames. My grandparents hadn’t even known what was happening until they started to smell the smoke. By then, the fire had already consumed Leo’s room. They called 9-1-1 immediately, but it was too late.
My little boy perished in the fire, and the man responsible for his death was probably long gone by now.
As I stand on the porch of my grandparent’s half-burned house, holding mynonnawhile she cries, I feel numb inside.
This is all my fault. I know exactly who did this, and it’s all my fucking fault.
Ronnie Newsome has been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember. He dated my ex-wife for ten years and had proposed to her, but she rejected him. He stalked her the entirety of our relationship, and when she got pregnant, he was livid.
And when she died, I think a part of him died with her. He blamed me relentlessly for her death even though I had nothing to do with it. She’d gone into cardiac arrest during labor; the doctors did everything they could to save her, but she was gone within minutes.
Ronnie still thinks that it’s my fault she died, and now he’s decided to take my whole entire world from me.
At least Leo died knowing how much I loved him. I just wish I could have seen him one last time.
CHAPTER 8
ESSENCE
“Bye, guys, see you tomorrow!”I call to my kids a few days later as I leave the classroom and walk outside to my bike. The past few days have been challenging, to say the least. My students are constantly asking me questions about Leo’s funeral, and even though it’s been three months since he died, they still ask me why he’s not at school. It breaks my heart and makes me want to cry every single time. Children are so much more aware than adults give them credit for.
The mental exhaustion of dealing with that, plus the stuff I go through at home is too much to handle sometimes.
All I want to do is go home and relax, but then I remember that I still have so much to do when I get home.
Evan’s laundry, Evan’s lunches for the rest of the week, scheduling Evan’s doctor’s appointment…
I’m starting to think I have an oversized toddler rather than a boyfriend.
It’s a shame, because I actually do really want kids one day, but living with him for the past two years has made me seriously reconsider that. Having a child is a huge commitment, and I don’t think Evan is ready for that.
If I’m being honest, I don’t think I would ever consider making him the father of my children.
