She pushed off the desk, tone pleading. “We’d love to have him at Christmas every other year.”
“No.”
Deena flinched like I’d hit her. “What do you mean no?”
Seething, I hissed, “You do not get to play with my son like he’s a fucking toy. You’re in or you’re out. If you leave for London, you don’t get to see Michael again. If, when he’s eighteen, he decides he wants you back in his life, that’s his choice. But right now, it’s my choice to protect him from his selfish mother.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand, Deena. I understand that you want Michael on your terms and that’s not what parenting is. You are a terrible mother, and I will never let myself forget that again.”
Her tears spilled over. “And if I said I’d fight for custody after all?”
I huffed, no longer afraid of that threat. “I might actually have some respect for you if you tried, but one, I have a feeling your husband doesn’t want a child around full time. Two, I don’t think you could handle sitting in a courtroom being reminded that you abandoned your child. And three, thanks to my father, I now have more money than God, and you can bet your selfish arse that I will use every fucking penny to keep you out of Michael’s life.”
Deena swiped at her tears, angry defensiveness burning in her gaze. “I would have thought some time with me was better than nothing.”
She didn’t get it. “Deena, you abandoned him when he was a baby and he gave you a second chance without even blinking. Because he is so desperate for his mum to love him. And now you’re going to tell him that you’re leaving him again and you only have time for him every other Christmas? Do you not realize how much that’s going to hurt him? Or do you just not care?”
She flinched again. “I … I don’t want to hurt him, but … I didn’t realize Jim would be so against having a kid when I wrote you that email last year.”
“And Jim is more important than Michael?”
Deena’s answer was silence.
To make it worse, she refused to tell Michael herself, and I had to tell him while we were driving home. He called Deena because he didn’t want to believe me, and she reluctantly confirmed that she was leaving for London. That they wouldn’t see each other for a while.
Michael had sobbed on the phone, telling her he hated her before he hung up. Then he cried and raged about it being Jim’s fault. That Jim didn’t like him. I hated my son had felt that from the bastard. Grief thickened my throat, and I’d had to pull the car onto the side of the road to comfort him. He fought me, wanting to be angry at everyone, before he finally collapsed against me in tears.
My own tears had slipped free, and all the old hurt and rage I’d felt toward my ex resurfaced. Yet I was angry at myself, too, for letting her back into Michael’s life to do this.
The rest of the car ride home I tried to talk to my son, but he wasn’t up for conversation. I’d told him Kenna was at the house and as soon as we’d arrived, he rushed out to her for comfort.
Controlling my emotions, I got out and strode into the house. I heard murmuring from Michael’s bedroom, so I followed the sound and stopped in the doorway.
Kenna laid on Michael’s bed and he was snuggled into her side. She stroked his hair and whispered soothing words. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the flash of rage in them before they filled with sad concern.
“I’m okay,” I mouthed.
“You’ll never leave us, Kenna, will you?” Michael cried, sounding so much younger than his years. “You’ll never leave us.”
Was it wrong that I wanted her to say she wouldn’t? That I wanted her bound to us.
She searched my face and whatever she saw there made her expression soften with awe. Then, “I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” she promised.
And I knew then I trusted her. If not with my heart, I trusted her with Michael’s. She’d never make that promise if she had even the tiniest bit of doubt.
Relief and joy cut through my anger, and I sank against the doorframe. “That would be forever, then.”
Kenna sucked in a breath. “Really?”
Michael burrowed deeper into her. “Really,” he and I said in unison.
That was the magic of Kenna Smith. She could take a traumatizing, sad day and uplift it with just her presence, like the sun through clouds. Even on a day that was painful for her too.
What had we done to deserve someone like her? Whatever it was, I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“Forever,” I repeated.
