Too Late To Pick Him Up

In the past two months, my husband, Mark Sterling, had barely come home.

Whenever he showed up, he was either glued to his phone or hiding in the shower.

He didn't notice that all of our son's things had been packed away into storage.

He didn't notice the layer of dust settling over the once lively playroom.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Why are you speechless?" Mark reached out to drape an arm over my shoulder when he saw me standing still.

I stepped sideways to avoid his touch.

The mask slipped instantly. Impatience flared across his face.

"Alright, Sarah, that's enough," he snapped. "I delayed a meeting by thirty minutes just to hunt down this toy.

“Chloe said every kid wants one, so I went through a lot of trouble to get it."

Hearing Chloe’s name sent a wave of nausea through my stomach.

Chloe Dawson was his executive assistant, and she was the same woman registered under his name on those hotel receipts.

Two months ago, the day Leo died, I called Mark thirty times. He declined every single call.

Finally, he sent a text.

[In a meeting. Stop making a scene.]

I found out later that it was Chloe’s birthday. He had rented out a rooftop venue to watch fireworks with her.

Meanwhile, my little boy drew his last breath on a cold pavement, calling out for his daddy.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table as a text came in from Chloe.

It was a blatant provocation.

[Mark was exhausted last night, so he's still sleeping. Thanks for understanding, Sarah!]

I stared at the message, then looked at the man standing in front of me, posing like he was doing me a grand favor.

He wanted to pick our son up from school.

Where was he going to pick him up? The cemetery?

"Mark," I said, my voice dry and hollow.

"Yeah?" he replied absently, his eyes already glued back to his phone.

"Do you really want to pick Leo up?"

He frowned in annoyance.

"When have I ever broken a promise to you? He's just a kid. I was too busy with work before, but the company is stable now. I can pick him up once a week. Happy?"

His condescending tone felt like a fresh blade dragging across my heart.

I picked up the limited-edition action figure.

Under Mark’s stunned gaze, I tossed it straight into the trash can.

Mark shot up from his seat, his face darkening with rage. "Sarah! Have you lost your mind?

"Do you have any idea how hard that was to get? Do you know how much I paid for it?" He pointed a finger in my face, his voice booming. "You ungrateful woman. I’ve spoiled you rotten."

Spoiled?

I looked at him, tears welling in my eyes, though I refused to let them fall.

Five years.

I had spent five years as a stay-at-home mother. I thought I married for love, but I had only bound myself to a self-centered tyrant.

"He said he doesn't want it anymore," I whispered.

"What?" Mark misheard me.

"Leo said he doesn't want any more toys from his dad."

Mark let out a cold laugh and snatched up his car keys.

"Don't use our son as an excuse. There's a charity gala tonight. Dress nicely and bring Leo along.

“We haven't brought him out publicly in a while. A happy family photo op will look good for the stock prices."

I dug my fingernails into my palms. "Leo can't go. He's dead."

Mark froze for a fraction of a second, then scoffed.

"Sarah, you're unbelievable. You would curse our own son just to get back at me?"

He sneered. "Whatever. It's better if he doesn't come anyway. Saved me from listening to a brat whine all night."

He strode toward the front door, pausing on his way out. "A driver will pick you up at seven. Don't embarrass me."

I stared into the empty living room, slowly walked back into our bedroom, and shut the door behind me.

Leaning against the wood, I slid down to the floor.

And in the dead silence of the room, I finally let out the tears I had been holding back for months.