Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish
“Dad?” Teddy says quietly.
“Yeah, bud?”
His voice is small, careful. “Did I do something to make Olivia sad?”
The question hits me square in the ribs, leaving an ache I didn’t see coming. I stare at him like a stunned mullet, unsure if I even heard him right.
“What makes you think that, mate?”
He shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Because she doesn’t come here anymore.”
Christ. My throat feels dry. “She’s just… busy, bud. You know how grown-ups are. Work and stuff.”
He looks up at me, blue eyes too damn knowing for his age. “But she always came even when she was busy.”
I rub a hand over my face, exhaling hard. “I know, but sometimes people need some more time. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you.”
He nods, but the doubt’s written all over him. And hell, it’s written all over me too. Because what do I even say? That I’m the reason she’s gone? That I fucked it all up because I can’t seem to get out of my own way?
“Hey,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “You’ve got a playdate today, remember? With Corey.”
That gets a reaction. His whole face lights up. “Yeah.”
“And you’re gonna have the best time, mate.”
I stand, ruffling his hair. He swats my hand away with a giggle that knocks something loose in my chest. Corey’s his first real friend, which is a big deal for him. For us. And yet, watching him pack his little backpack, I can’t shake this stupid ache crawling under my ribs.
When we get to Corey’s house, I kill the engine and get out, walking around to unbuckle Teddy from his seat. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, clutching his backpack straps like he’s about to start a bloody adventure, but before he can bolt, I crouch down in front of him.
“Whoa, whoa. Where’s my goodbye hug?”
He grins and throws his little arms around my neck. I hold him tighter than I probably should, breathing him in like I can store the moment somewhere safe.
“Alright, champ,” I murmur. “I’ll be back to pick you up at three, yeah? I won’t be late.”
He nods, serious as anything.
“And, hey,” I add quietly, brushing his curls back. “Remember what we talked about—if you start to feel a bit too much noise in your head, you can ask Corey if you can take a break. Maybe go outside for a bit, yeah?”
He nods again. “Okay.” Then, with that blunt honesty only kids have, he steps back. “You can go now, Dad. We’re gonna build a race track.”
I glance over his shoulder to see Corey standing at the fence, waving him over, a toy car clutched in his hand. And right there, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from losing it. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, and I’m about to tear up because my kid’s ditching me for a playdate. Is this normal? I stand there like a bloody idiot, keys dangling in my hand, watching my son run off without so much as a backward glance.
Whoever said kids get separation anxiety lied. It’s the parents who do.
Because as he disappears into the backyard, laughing—free, loud, alive—I realise something I’ve been avoiding all week. He’s moving forward. He’s growing. He’s happy. He’s starting to let other people in, and I’m the one stuck standing still. And for the first time since Teddy came into my life, he’s pushingmeaway. I don’t even know how to feel about it.
Proud, yeah. Relieved, maybe.
But there’s this undercurrent of fear humming beneath it all. Because one day, he’ll be older, and it won’t just be a few hours at a mate’s house. One day, he’ll walk out the door, off to chase his own life, and I’ll have to let him go for good. And when that day comes—when he doesn’t need me anymore—what’ll I have left? Someone to depend on? Someone to share the quiet with? Only one face flashes in my mind.
Hers.
That thought alone is enough to make my chest tighten and my stomach twist. Which is probably why, before I even realise what I’m doing, my feet are moving, acting on instinct before my brain can catch up.
I don’t plan it.
