“She’s already bored,” Catherine told me during that chance meeting. “She wanted control, not responsibility.”
That was the moment something in me finally settled.
I realized Lucy had not come back because she missed her son. She came back because she had nowhere else to go.
Life continued.
Will started first grade.
I coached his soccer team, even though I barely understood the rules. I burned pancakes on Saturday mornings and laughed when Will called them “crispy on purpose.” We built a life that felt sturdy, even when it wasn’t perfect.
Then, one evening, months after the grocery store incident, my phone rang. Lucy’s name lit up the screen.
I didn’t answer.
She didn’t leave a voicemail.
That night, Will and I sat on the couch, eating popcorn and watching a movie.
He leaned against me and asked, “Daddy, do you think Mom will ever come back?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know, buddy.”
He nodded, thinking it over. “I’m glad you stayed.”
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