Halfway through the movie, he looks up at me again. “Mom?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Did you ever want to be a superhero when you were little?”
The question takes me off guard, but I smile. “I think I just wanted to help people. Maybe not save the world, but…make someone’s world better.”
He nods seriously, then shifts to lie more fully against me. His voice comes out softer. “You make my world better.”
Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. I swallow hard and kiss the top of his head. “You make mine better, too.”
The movie fades into the background noise. We stay like that for a while—just holding each other, breathing in the quiet peace between us. My thoughts keep drifting, though. To the hibiscus. To Cole. To the possibility of a family that never fully was.
I hear a soft knock on the door. My heart skips a beat, but I quickly shake my head, dismissing the thought. It’s probably justone of the neighbors. But when I open the door, my breath catches in my throat.
There’s no one there, but a small box sits on the doorstep. My heart lurches as I crouch down to pick it up. It’s wrapped in simple brown paper, tied with twine.
My mind reels. I can feel the warmth of the sun fading as a chill spreads through me.
My pulse quickens as I tear open the package. Inside, there’s an art set—exactly what I used to want all those years ago. The same set Cole gave me for my birthday when we were sixteen. I’d been so into painting back then. I hadn’t picked up a brush in years.
Tears prickle in my eyes. Ican’t—I just can’t. The past is the past. I have to let go. But looking at the art set, and remembering all the things we used to share, it’s impossible not to think about what might have been.
I step back inside, closing the door behind me. Cohen is still sitting on the couch, now fiddling with his shoes.
“What’s that?” he asks, eyeing the box in my hands.
I sit down beside him, trying to steady my breathing. “Just a surprise from an old friend,” I say, my voice far more steady than I feel. “I’m just trying to figure out what to do with it.”
Cohen looks up at me curiously, his small brow furrowing. “Are you okay, Mom?”
I smile, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. “Yeah, lovebug. Just...thinking.”
He nods, his attention already slipping back to his comic book.
But this time, he doesn’t dive back in. He puts the book down after a moment and rests his head on my lap again. “If someone sent you a surprise, maybe they love you,” he says simply.
I blink down at him. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just…if I loved someone, I’d want them to have things that make them happy. Like how you gave me those dinosaur slippers last winter when I was sad about Dad’s Day at school.”
I feel my heart squeeze. I wrap an arm around his shoulder and hold him close.
“You remember that?” I whisper.
“I remember everything you do for me,” he says. “I think they do, too.”
Later that evening, after Cohen’s tucked into bed, I sit alone in the quiet of the living room. The hibiscus rest on the counter, its bright petals still reaching for the light, and the art set sits unopened beside them. Both are reminders of a past I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. I fidget with the bracelet Cole gave me years ago. I’ve never taken it off. Its familiar weight grounds me.
I can’t deny it—there’s still a part of me that wonders what might have happened if life had taken a different turn. If we hadn’t said goodbye so young. If things had been simpler, or if we’d been braver. Maybe, just maybe, Cole and I would still be the same two people who once dreamed of forever.
But that wasn’t our reality.
And I can’t go back.
Still, seeing those hibiscus, holding that old art set, reading his note, is like he’s never really left. And it shakes me more than I care to admit.
I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment of weakness. The past will always be a part of me. And Cole…Cole will always be a part of that.
