Right.
The bear spray canister on my hip keeps banging against my thigh with each step.
Annoying.
I pause, unclip it, and transfer it to my pack instead.
Better.
My eyes drift to the shotgun slung over Marco’s shoulder.
“We’re not actually... going to... kill anything today, are we?” I ask him softly.
He shrugs noncommittally. “This is a hunting trip. We’re going hunting.”
When your billionaire lover or whatever he is casually announces he’s planning to shoot Bambi in front of his five-year-old daughter who talks to a stuffed snail.
“Marco.” I keep my voice low. “She’s five. She thinks animals have feelings. She names rocks. Yesterday she cried because a leaf fell off a tree.”
“That’s exactly why she needs to understand the reality,” he says calmly. “Respect comes from understanding the full cycle. Life, death, sustenance.”
“Or trauma,” I mutter. “Trauma also comes from watching your dad shoot something with big adorable eyes.”
He glances at me. “You don’t hunt.”
“Correct. I also don’t therapize five-year-olds who’ve just witnessed a Disney character getting murdered.”
“It’s a deer, Jess. Not a character.”
“Tell that to Ben when she’s sobbing over Frederick tonight because she can’t stop thinking about Bambi’s mom. Seriously, I thought the rifle was just for show.”
He shakes his head. “I thought I made it plain already what it was for.”
When you realize you’re actively participating in what might be the worst parenting decision of the year and you’re complicit because you’re too chicken to put yourfoot down.
Great job, Jess.
He suddenly sighs. “All right. Fine, if we find a deer I’ll keep an eye on Ben and won’t shoot if I think she can’t handle it. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him.
He nods to himself. “Best I can do.”
We walk for maybe fifteen minutes. Ben narrates everything to Frederick. “Look, a pinecone! And that tree has moss. And I think I see a bird but it flew away.”
The normalcy of it helps. This is just a walk. Marco won’t kill anything. It’s just fresh air and nature doing nature things. Nothing scary. Nothing dangerous.
Except I can’t shake this feeling.
This weight in the air that feels wrong.
It’s just my childhood trauma.
Ignore it.
You got this, Jess.
But then Ben stops. “Daddy, look.”
