CHAPTER 4 - EMERGENCY CONTACTS

Sera's POV

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts. Lincoln Elementary. The number I'd called a hundred times. For forgotten lunch money. For early pickups when Oliver had a tummy ache. For volunteering at the book fair.

The hallway felt too narrow. I could hear them in the dining room. Oliver's laugh. Vivienne's soft responses. The clink of forks on plates. My family having dinner without me.

"Lincoln Elementary, this is the front office. How can I help you?"

"Hi, this is Sera Blackwood. Oliver Blackwood's mother." The word 'mother' stuck in my throat. "I need to verify our emergency contact information."

"Oh, Mrs. Blackwood! One moment please."

Papers rustled. Keys clicked. My heart did that thing where it forgot how to beat properly.

"Alright, I have Oliver's file here. What did you need to verify?"

"Could you tell me who's listed as the primary emergency contact?"

More clicking. "Let me see... The primary contact is Vivienne Sterling."

The floor tilted. Or maybe I did.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Vivienne Sterling. She's listed as primary. You're listed as secondary, and Mr. Blackwood is third."

Secondary. I was secondary. To my own son.

"When..." I had to stop. Breathe. Try again. "When was this change made?"

"Let me check... It looks like the form was updated about three months ago. Mr. Blackwood brought in the new paperwork."

Three months. Three months of being secondary without knowing it.

"I see. And who's been attending Oliver's parent-teacher conferences?"

"Oh, Miss Sterling has been wonderful about those! She hasn't missed one. Such a devoted..." The receptionist paused. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Mr. Blackwood said you were very busy with work."

Devoted. They called her devoted.

"How many conferences has she attended?"

"Well, there was the October reading assessment, the November math placement discussion, and last week's general progress meeting. She takes such detailed notes. Always asks about extra ways to support Oliver at home."

My free hand gripped the wall. The wallpaper we'd chosen together when I was pregnant. When Jonathan promised we'd be equal partners. When the future was yellow like nursery walls and soft like baby blankets.

"Mrs. Blackwood? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm here." Barely. "Could you tell me when the next conference is scheduled?"

"Of course! There's one next Tuesday at 3:30 about the science fair projects. Should I add a note that you'll be attending?"

Add a note. Like I was an afterthought. An addition. A maybe.

"Yes, please."

"Wonderful! Miss Sterling already confirmed she'll be there, so Oliver will have plenty of support."

Plenty of support. From everyone but his mother, apparently.

"Thank you." I ended the call before she could say anything else about how wonderful Vivienne was. How devoted. How present.

I stood there in my own hallway, in my own house, feeling like a stranger. When had this happened? When had I become the secondary contact in my son's life?

"Mommy?" Oliver's voice made me jump. He stood at the end of the hall, holding his dinner plate. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, baby. Just finishing my call."

"Was it about boring work stuff?"

Everything was boring work stuff to him now. When had I become the boring parent? The one who was always on the phone, always rushing, always missing things?

"Kind of." I knelt down to his level. "Oliver, can I ask you something?"

"Sure!" He shifted the plate to one hand, the other reaching out to touch my face. "Your eyes are wet."

I hadn't realized I was crying.

"If something happened at school, like if you got sick or hurt, who would they call?"

"Miss Vivienne!" He said it so easily. Like breathing. "She picked me up last month when I threw up in art class. Remember? You were at that big meeting."

I didn't remember. Because no one had told me. My son had been sick, had needed comfort, and someone else had provided it.

"She brought me soup and everything. And stayed until Daddy got home." His face scrunched with concern. "Mommy, you're doing the sad face again."

"I'm okay, sweetheart."

"Is it because you're secondary?"

My blood turned to ice. "What?"

"On the forms. Miss Rodriguez told Tommy that's why they called Miss Vivienne when I got sick. Because she's primary and you're secondary." He said it like he was reciting facts about dinosaurs. Simple. Unchangeable. "What does secondary mean?"

Second. It meant second. Second best. Second choice. Second place in my own son's life.

"It just means... it's complicated, baby."

"Oh. Like taxes?"

"Like taxes."

"Miss Vivienne says she doesn't mind being primary. She says it's easy because she's always available." He tilted his head. "What does available mean?"

Available. Present. There. Everything I wasn't.

"Sera?" Jonathan appeared behind Oliver. "Everything alright? Vivienne's clearing the table."

Of course she was. Devoted Vivienne. Available Vivienne. Primary Vivienne.

"Everything's fine." I stood up, my knees creaking. When had standing become hard? "Oliver was just telling me about getting sick last month."

Something flickered across Jonathan's face. Guilt? Annoyance? It was gone too fast to tell.

"It was no big deal. Vivienne handled it."

"I threw up on my shoes!" Oliver announced proudly. "The dinosaur ones!"

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Jonathan shrugged. "You were in Sacramento. At that authentication for the museum. The one you said was career-defining."

Career-defining. I remembered that day. The Basquiat that turned out to be real. The commission that paid for Oliver's summer camp. The sixteen-hour days preparing for it.

"You could have called."

"Vivienne handled it." He said it again. Like a mantra. Like a solution. Like a replacement. "Come on, buddy. Let's get that plate to the kitchen."

They walked away together, Oliver chattering about his dinosaur shoes and how Miss Vivienne had bought him new ones. The exact same kind because she'd taken a picture of the old ones to make sure.

She'd taken a picture. To make sure she got the right ones. The ones I'd spent three stores searching for because Oliver was particular about his dinosaurs.

I leaned against the wall, in the hallway of the house I paid for, feeling like a ghost. When had I become the secondary parent? When had my absence become so expected that no one even bothered to tell me when my son was sick?

My phone buzzed. A reminder about the quarterly financial review I always did on Friday nights. After Oliver was in bed. After Jonathan was watching TV. After everyone else's needs were met.

I walked back toward the dining room and stopped in the doorway. Vivienne was at the sink, Oliver on a step stool beside her, both washing dishes. Jonathan sat at the table, scrolling through his phone. They looked like a family. A complete unit.

Three people who didn't need a fourth.

"Miss Vivienne, can I dry?" Oliver held up a dish towel.

"Of course, sweetheart. You're such a good helper."

Sweetheart. She called him sweetheart.

I turned away before any of them could see me. Before I had to pretend this was normal. Before I had to smile and be grateful that someone else was mothering my son.

My laptop was in the study. The financial files were waiting. At least numbers didn't lie. Numbers didn't pretend. Numbers didn't slowly erase you from your own life.

But as I opened the bedroom door to get my laptop, a terrible thought crept in. If Vivienne was primary on school forms, if she was attending conferences, if she was the one they called when Oliver was sick...

What else had been changed without my knowledge?