Chapter 5
The house felt haunted when I brought Jack home to pack.
He stood in his room, staring at the baseball posters Diane had hung.
“She said Mom didn’t want my drawings,” he whispered.
I swallowed.
“She lied.”
“She threw some away.”
“I know.”
He finally looked at me.
“You let her.”
That sentence hit harder than any punch.
“Yes,” I said.
His face crumpled.
“Why?”
Because I was weak.
Because I was lonely.
Because I wanted help.
Because Diane made obedience feel like peace.
But none of those answers belonged on a child’s shoulders.
“I believed the wrong person,” I said. “And I failed you.”
Jack cried then.
Not soft crying.
Angry crying.
He threw a pillow at me.
Then a book.
Then the baseball glove Diane bought him.
I let him.
When he ran out of things to throw, he sank onto the bed.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I nodded.
Lucy moved into a protected apartment arranged by victim services.
Jack wanted to stay with her.
Of course he did.
The emergency court granted Lucy temporary full custody.
I did not fight.
My lawyer asked if I was sure.
I said, “He needs safety more than I need pride.”
At the hearing, Jack sat beside Lucy.
He did not look at me.
When the judge asked if I agreed to supervised contact, I said yes.
Lucy glanced at me then.
Only once.
There was no forgiveness in it.
But there was recognition.
Maybe, for the first time in years, I had chosen Jack over my ego.
May you like
It was late.
But it was real.
