Guilt.
Because when I told Grant and Callum to stay out of it, I heard the way their voices changed.
The shock, the uncertainty, the desperation as I slipped between their fingers.
I can’t take back any of what I said to them.
I had to draw a line somewhere.
For Eli’s sake.
For mine.
He’s been my only focus these past three days.
Every morning he wakes up, curls his small hand into mine, and asks if they’re ever going to come around again.
At the shop, he watches out the window and hopes they’ll stop by again. I never have the heart to tell him no.
A part of me wants to cave.
To pick up the phone that sits on my nightstand every night and call them, just to saysomething.
To ask if they’re okay, to tell them I miss them so much it hurts.
But every time I reach for the phone, I remember the sound of my own voice that day when I told them,“I told you I could handle this on my own.”
I meant it when I said it. I think I still do.
But that doesn’t stop the ache that comes with the absence that followed after it was all said and done.
Because the truth is, I didn’t just cut all ties with them when I said not to contact me again. I cut out the one sliver of safety and security I’d started to believe in.
And now I’m back to where I started.
Alone.
I should be relieved. I should feel better knowing my secret will never be exposed.
But all I feel is hollow.
I end up telling Eli they went back to their home state.
The lie rolls off my tongue smoother than I’d like to admit. It’s small, simple, easy enough for him to believe, but it carves a hole in my chest every time I repeat it.
It had been born out of desperation, because after almost every morning since we’d left the hotel, he’d ask with his mouth full of cereal, eyes wide and expectant:“Will they come by today? So we can play out in the snow?”and I had no idea what to say.
Or when I’d tuck him in at night and he’d whisper,“Can they come over to read me a bedtime story? Maybe tomorrow night?”
Every time he’d ask, I’d feel it.
That pinch behind my ribs, sharp and unexpected.
So, on the third night, I smiled through it, smoothed his hair back, and kissed his forehead before saying, “They went back to their home state, sweetheart. They had to work.”
He’d been sad but trusted me without question because that’s what kids do.
It’s selfish, I know. I could tell him the truth that I’m the reason he can’t see them anymore, that I’m the one who drew the line in the sand and told them to stay away.
