Page 117 of The Grief We Hold

“Okay. Can we have pizza for dinner?”

I grin and shake my head. “No. You need something with more vegetables.”

“Bor-ing,” Fen says in a singsong voice.

As we approach our apartment, I notice there’s a strange car parked on the street, but it’s not unusual for someone to park outside so they can pop into the hardware store.

“I need to pee,” Fen says suddenly. And I don’t know what it is about kids that they can’t decide that earlier. When they say it, it’s urgent.

I wrestle the key out of my pocket, slip it into the lock, and open the door.

Fen sprints up the stairs, and I laugh as I go to close the door, but someone slams their foot in the way.

When Marco’s face appears, I’m part terrified, part relieved. At least it isn’t the men who came to the house to look for him.

But my heart still stutters, dropping and racing.

“Are you alone?” he asks, like he isn’t forcing his way into my apartment.

“Marco, what are you doing here?”

He shoves the door open; I’m no match for his strength and leverage. “We need to talk.”

I take a look at his features. He’s disheveled. Unkempt. And exhausted.

A far cry from the man I married.

It’s not reassuring, and my palms sweat.

“You can’t be here,” I say. It’s weak, I know. But I don’t know how much trouble I’m in.

“Quick,” he says, his tone laced with anger. “It’s not safe out here.”

I add the wordparanoidto my list of things he is. “That’s not my responsibility.”

He shoves me back, not hard, but enough so that I stumble the few extra steps so he can close the door. My back hits one of the hooks on the doorway that we hang our coats on.

“Get up the stairs,” he says.

I don’t want to go. I’m the only thing keeping Marco separate from Fen.

“Go,” he yells, and his face contorts into an angry, red mess.

I jump, flinch a little, and do as he says, but when I get to the top, I turn to face him. “Let me go check on Fen. You know what happens when he has an accident.”

Marco used to get annoyed when Fen peed his pants. He hasn’t done it for over a year, but Marco wouldn’t know that. He hasn’t been an active part of Fen’s life for the last twelve months, even though we lived in the same house. It’s simply a way to get into the bathroom and use my phone.

“Fuck’s sake,” Marco mutters, taking in my apartment from the top of the stairs. “Go.”

I hurry to the bathroom, knowing Fen never leaves the door locked. He’s just finishing up as I step inside and lock it.

“Phew. That was the longest pee, Mom,” he says as he zips his pants. “Is Axel here?”

He hurries to reach the door handle to greet him, but I reach for his wrist and stop him. “No, sweetheart. I need you to be quiet.”

“Why?”

“Shh. One second. Just wash your hands.”

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