Mayo

ng sobs that tore through me like shrapnel. I held him close, whispering promis

cupped into my shoulder, his voice small and brok

nto his hair. "So many people love you. Grandpa George

back to look at me, his eyes red an

wolf in his pocket. It was the last gift Emerson ha

trong one. "I know, baby. But Daddy and his mommy... they don' t want us to stay

Slowly, his hand released the wooden wolf. Tears

Just until my birthday? Maybe... maybe he' ll come.

nal scrap of love from the man who had jus

pered, kissing his tear-sta

tting untouched on the table. The silence in our small house was deafening. I fin

five years old, Emerson. He' s been sitting by the window

long moment. Then, a cli

d in defeat. "It' s okay, Mommy. He' s busy." He forced a s

tiny pieces. I was about to call Emerson back, to scream and rage and demand h

te. I have a sur

ted in his eyes. "He remembered! Mommy, he remembered

gh. I have a whole part

lier heartbreak forgotten. He chattered excitedly the wh

d with balloons and streamers. It was filled with roses, hundreds of them, and elegantly dress

g by a towering, multi-tiered cake and ran st

in the suddenly silent room. "Are you

"April? Dexter? What are you doing here?" He was dressed in a tail

etween Dexter and Emerson. "Is that... his son

. "Who are you calling Daddy?" he asked, his voice cold and sharp. He pushed Dexter

im, his eyes wide wit

oping him into my arm

er face. "But the party' s just getting started. I was so hoping you' d come." She held up her phone, showing me the

e. "Tell them, darling. Tell everyone thi

essed. Then, he looked at Chloe, at the powerful, influential guests, at the

as his

ng with fury. "And his father is the greatest ma

, and then her hand flew, the sharp sting of her slap echoing through the b

of righteous indignation. "She' s trying

ushing and shoving. A fist connected with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I cur

rson. He stood frozen, his face a canvas

I owed him for saving my life all those ye

er had wriggled free from my arms and thrown himself at Emerso

a pain no child should ever know. "Plea

ot Dad

tared down at Dexter, his face ashen, his entire

t his gaze was steady, preternaturally adult. "We

, a small, broken boy leading his battered mother, we wal

om Emerson. Go home, April. Take Dex. I

He looked up at me. "Mommy," he said, his voic

anything,"

let' s

very photograph, every letter, the little wooden wolf. As the la

he door and nev

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