Twenty years ago…
I stood in the doorway of our closet—scratch that, my closet—and took in the state of it. The only things my soon to be ex-husband, Tyson, left behind were his “World’s Greatest Dad” T-shirt and a ceramic mug Nicky made him a couple years ago. The mug was lopsided and painted an unfortunate color combination of brown and green (brown for his dad’s favorite color and green for his). Nicky had been so proud of it, even more so when Tyson told him it was the best gift he’d ever received.
A tear slipped out of the corner of my eye and ran down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away, nor did I try to stop the ones that followed. It was pointless given the circumstances.
My husband no longer loved me. But becoming a twenty-five-year-old divorcée wasn’t what caused the ache in my chest. It wasn’t even the fact that I’d be raising our son alone.
No. Any and all grief I felt was for my little boy in bed across the hall. Because what Tyson failed to mention before he left was that I wasn’t the only one he didn’t love anymore.
He was a coward. When he left he told Nicky he still loved him, that he’d only fallen out of love with me. Tyson made promises he knew he wouldn’t be keeping right before he walked out our front door, leaving me to break our son’s heart.
I could understand him leaving me. We weren’t in love and didn’t have any business being married. Tyson and I had married for Nicky’s sake when I was only seventeen. As we grew up, we realized we wanted different things out of life. We struggled for money and always had to watch our spending. I didn’t mind. I didn’t need much. I was okay with a small life and big love. Tyson seemed to want the exact opposite.
Nicholas was my big love, and because of that he never felt like a responsibility. It felt like a privilege to be his mother. But Tyson grew dissatisfied with our quiet life. He wanted more money, a flashier job, less responsibilities…
Our son was, apparently, the biggest one of all.
How would I explain that to an eight-year-old? How would this fit into Nicky’s perception of himself, and the world?
I’d get over it. My worth wasn’t tied to Tyson’s presence in my life. Like with any change, I’d miss him, but I definitely wouldn’t mourn him.
With a sigh and a quick swipe to rid my face of any tears, I turned off the closet light and walked out of my bedroom toward Nicky’s room. He was lying in bed, his spacesuit pajamas on and hands relaxing behind his head.
“Hey buddy.” I walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed before pushing some of the hair out of his eyes.
“Hey,” he whispered, giving me a sad smile.
I stayed quiet for almost a minute. “I want to talk about your dad.”
“He’s not coming back, is he?”
I jerked, taken aback by his response. I needed to tread carefully. This discussion felt like a minefield. “Why do you think that?”
Nicky shrugged, his eyes meeting the ceiling. “Paul said when his dad left he never came back either.”
“I see… and did Paul say anything else?”
My son paused, his jaw tensing. “He said it’s because Dad doesn’t want me anymore. Is that true?” Nicky murmured, shattering my heart into more pieces than I thought imaginable.
“It’s complicated,” I said slowly, the lie feeling like ash in my mouth.
Nicky looked at me, and his little eyebrows worked, trying to understand. “How? He either loves me or he doesn’t, right?”
I didn’t know what to say. For all their naivety, children got one thing right. Love. My sweet boy was right—love wasn’t complicated. Everything else was, and unfortunately everything else bled into love, giving the illusion of complexity. But no matter what other troubles my ex was going through, if he truly loved Nicky, he’d be here right now.
I must have stayed quiet too long because he nodded and refocused on the glow in the dark stars affixed above him. I had nothing to correct him with anyway.
How could a child possibly understand abandonment? How did a son reconcile the fact that his hero no longer wanted to be his father?
I didn’t get angry often, but right now I was furious. I wouldn’t lie to my son, and sadly telling him his father loved him felt like a lie. So I offered the only truth I could.
“It’s not your fault, Nicky.”
Another shrug.
“How could it be? I’m still here,” I said, putting my hand over my heart. “If it was your fault, wouldn’t I leave too?” His gaze collided with mine, and before he could speculate, I added, “And that will never happen, Nicholas. The only way I’m leaving you is if God decides it’s my time, and even then I’ll go kicking and screaming.”
I felt victorious when he gave me a smile, complete with the wide gap between his two front teeth.
“I guess it’s okay. He wasn’t here much anyway.” Another flash of fury moved through me. I looked down and saw his tiny fist relaxing as he spread out his fingers. “You make better pancakes than Dad anyway.”
Grinning, I grabbed his hand. “How ’bout I make some special ones tomorrow morning? Chocolate chip?”
Instead of smiling wider like I expected, his lips dipped down and his attention moved to something behind me.
“Baseball tryouts are tomorrow,” he whispered. “Dad was gonna take me.”
“I’ll drive you. Pancakes first and then—”
He shook his head, dropped my hand, and climbed out of bed. “That’s okay.” My shattered heart broke even further when he grabbed his sports bag—too heavy for him to carry—and dragged it across the room toward his closet. “Maybe I’ll try out next year.”
Nicky closed the door but didn’t turn around. I waited for a sniffle or the shake of his shoulders—anything to indicate he was crying and needed me. It never came.
A few minutes later he turned around, his expression blank as he got back into bed.
“Chocolate pancakes sound real good,” he said before giving me a hug. I held on tight, waiting until he was ready to let go. Nicky giggled when I held on even after his arms had dropped to the side.
Falling back against his bed, he smiled up at me. Tyson was a fool if he thought he’d find something better.
“Night, Ma.”
I grabbed the covers and pulled them to his chin before bending down and kissing his forehead. “Night, dear. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed by the time I made it to the threshold. I turned off the lights and closed the door until only a sliver of space remained.
I quickly walked into my room, my back hitting the door as soon as I shut it, before I collapsed, tears flooding my eyes.
I didn’t want him to hate his father. I didn’t want to turn him against Tyson, just in case Tyson ever did want to be back in his son’s life. But my primary job was to protect Nicky, and how could I do that if I wasn’t honest about the kind of man his father was?
Sleep never came. I sat there all night, thinking of what I was going to say the next time we talked about Tyson.
Turns out, it didn’t matter.
Nicky never asked about his father again.
He never talked about trying out for baseball again.
And he never fully trusted another person again.