Page 33 of Back to Willow

He looks down at his hands with a frown, taking in what I am telling him.

“Is Uncle Jake my dad, then?” I’d laugh if this conversation wasn’t this upsetting to me.

“No, baby. He is your uncle, my brother.”

“But do I have a father or not?” he insists, and I press my lips together even tighter.

“Yes, baby.”

“Then why is he not here with me, like you are?” His voice raises, and I can sense the frustration irradiating from him. “Doesn’t he like me? Why doesn’t he like me?”

He’s getting anxious, and thank god that we’re arriving home. I hastily drive into our driveway, push the hand break down, and turn off the car. As soon as it is secure, I unbuckle myself, twisting and leaning over my seat to unbuckle him. He easily clutches on to me as I clumsily pull him to the front and place him on my lap.

“Alright, can I tell you the story?” He nods eagerly, and I take a deep breath in before continuing, “I was really young when I discovered I was going to be your mum, and a lot of people were angry that I let that happen. My mum and dad—your grandparents—were really mad at me, baby, and I was afraid. Nana offered to help me, and I left even before your dad knew you were going to come.” I try and simplify the story as much as I can. “So, he’s not here, not because he doesn't love you, but because he doesn't know you exist.”

He is still frowning, and I know what questions are brewing in his mind. The problem is that I can’t tell him the truth—the complex and complete one. How the hell am I going to do this?

Before he can ask anything else, I add, “We were so young, baby, and it was a very complicated situation for both of us. I thought that by taking care of you by myself, I was protecting you both.”

He doesn’t answer me but keeps the side of his head supported on my chest, fidgeting.

“Well, I’m bigger, so he is too, right? Can’t he meet me now?” he asks, and my heart aches at his request.

I had silently hoped he would never care about his father. I was sixteen and naïve, not thinking of moments like this one.

“I don’t know, baby; I never saw him again. I don’t know where he is.” He looks up at me with shiny eyes.

Oh god, please don’t cry.

“Mummy, I want to meet him. Can you find him?”

“I…I…”

My eyes sting, my throat burns, and my chest tightens.

I don't think I can.

It would uncover so much dirt and so many problems. But my son deserves the world, and he wants to meet his dad. The thought alone makes me crumble, and I hug him to my chest, crying silently onto his head. He hugs me back, without saying a word for a while. It’s when I feel his hiccups that I realise he’s crying, too, breaking my heart even further.

Then he leans away, looking at me with his pleading blue eyes and begs, “Please, Mummy.”

How can I say no to him? I can’t.

From the outside, one could call me a bad mum. What kind of mother robs her child of the right to meet their dad? A lot will decide that, and I think I get it.I do.

I would be fuming if my mum had kept me from my dad when I was Dylan’s age. Growing up, I used to be a daddy’s girl. My childhood would have been miserable without him. Even if, in the end, when I needed him the most, he didn’t back me up.

I cherish my childhood memories and those shouldn’t be taken away from a kid.

Even if my reasons for having fled are strong, they’re not stronger than wanting to give my kid what he deserves. I am just afraid that what he wants isnotwhat he deserves.

There is a lot I may need to face before he can meet his father, but if that is ultimately what he wants, I’ll do it. There isn’t any kind of hell I won’t go through for him.

“Okay, baby. I will try and find him for you.” I give in after exhaling a shaky breath.

His eyes light up, and he hugs me tight, repeatedly saying thank you while kissing all over my face. I’d laugh if I wasn’t dreading the outcome of this.

ELEVEN

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