“It’s just that last time, when he took me to the arcade, he was on his phone a lot. And every time I asked him to watch me shoot the ball into the hoop, he’d yell, ‘Not now, Zac.’”
I nod calmly, but my jaw is clenching so tightly it feels like it might crack. Inside, I feel a fierce, protective anger surging hot and fast, because my ex-husband hasn’t just proven himself unreliable, he’s been careless and dismissive of our son. And that? That is just not okay with me.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ll talk to him, okay.”
“Will he be mad that I told you?”
“No. He might be a little upset that he made you feel that way, but that’s on him, not you. You did the right thing by telling me.”
I pull him close, wrapping my arms around him, and he leans in. I love that he still lets his mother hold him, even as he grows more independent each year.
“You and I are still going to have a really good weekend together,” I promise him. “We can go to your favourite restaurant for zucchini flowers, and maybe we’ll head back to the arcade so you can show me those impressive basketball skills of yours.”
His expression immediately lights up. “Really?”
“Yes! If you want, we can even play together, and see who can score the most?”
“Okay! But just so you know, Mum, I’m a very, very good ball shooter.”
“Let’s see about that!”
Just then, the doorbell rings. I quickly get up and go to the door to grab our food.
Once I’m back in the room, I hand Zac his burrito and sink back in the couch with mine.
“Ready?” I ask, my thumb hovering just over the play button.
“Ready,” he replies, already with a mouthful of rice, chicken and beans.
I press play, and the movie begins.
For the next two hours, we settle into the couch, quietly shovelling bites of food between scenes. Every so often, I glance over at Zac, trying to read whether he’s still upset about his dad. But he’s completely engrossed in the movie, occasionally giggling at the funny parts. He’s so caught up in the story that it seems as if our earlier conversation has already slipped from his mind.
Still, I can’t shake the bitter fury that lingers after what Zac admitted to me. While my son has been craving meaningful time with his dad, Adrian has been squandering it, distracted by other women on his phone instead of being fully present.
I don’t know when he became such a negligent father, especially when he was once so caring and attentive during our marriage. But I do know this: if he keeps failing our son, I won’t hesitate to step in and make sure it stops.
It’s a quarter past ten, and I’m lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, unable to sleep. Images of Adrian brushing off Zac’s attempts to get his attention gnaw at my mind, festering like a slow-burning sickness. In eight hours, I’ll be getting upfor work, and I just know that sleep will be scarce. My body aches for rest, but my mind refuses to quiet, and I blame Adrian for that.
I know exactly what he’s doing—trying to make me feel guilty for ending our life together. He’s twisting his time with Zac into a weapon, a way to punish me and remind me of how my decision can hurt and affect our son. And fine, I’ll admit it, that part gnaws at me. But as for everything else? His selfishness, his carelessness, his complete disregard for what Zac actually needs? That’s on him, not me.
I open my Kindle app on my phone and start reading my book, hoping it will lull me to sleep. Fifteen minutes pass and two chapters later, I still haven’t absorbed a single word, nor do I feel any more tired than before.
Realising it’s probably useless at this point, I close the app and scroll through Facebook instead, losing myself in the endless newsfeed—from random updates, to big announcements, anything to keep my mind off my ex-husband.
After discovering that Adrian had started dating again just two weeks into our separation, I blocked him on all my social media. I didn’t want to stumble across photos of him and his dates every time I logged on. And it’s helped, more than I expected.
It’s hard enough hearing about it from others; actually seeing it with my own eyes would be unbearable. The images of Adrian and Lucia flashes into my mind, and I’m suddenly back to that day—meeting Kaden for the first time, him pulling out a manila folder filled with the photos.
No. I’m not letting my mind go there again. God knows how many times I’ve replayed that day in my head. Thinking about my afternoon with Kaden instead, I type his name into the search bar, desperate for something else to focus on for a change.
His profile appears at the top of the screen, and I tap it. A smile tugs at my lips when I see a photo of him standing next to another man—a handsome one, if I’m being honest, and wedged between them is a little boy who looks a couple of years younger than Zac.
They’re wearing matching footy jerseys, pressed close together, and judging by the football field stretching out behind them, it looks like they were watching a live game at the time. It’s an achingly sweet photo that somehow eases my chest just a little.
I flick through the handful of photos he has set to public—some of him, some of others, some of places he’s been. I move so quickly that I almost miss it: a photo of him, beaming with joy, seated in a light grey rocking chair, and what looks to be a nursery around him, cradling a tiny sleeping baby wrapped in a pink blanket. The date tells me it was taken early last year, and judging by her size, she can’t be more than two weeks old at the time.
There’s no long caption. Just a simple text that saysmy heart, followed by a heart emoji. It’s collected over a hundred and fifty likes and twenty-three comments, most offering congratulations, though a few go further, praising the ‘new daddy.’ It’s the only photo of Kaden with the baby, which makesme wonder if this is the child who he discovered wasn’t really his. The baby who might still be my ex-husband’s, if he would just take the damn DNA test.
