Page 2 of Everlasting Promises

There’s no rhyme or reason. No explanation. No trigger that I can pinpoint. But I’ve returned to where I was a year after losing Wyatt. The father of my son. My best friend. My future.

We made promises, and he broke his.Ididn’t.

Our promises were meant to be everlasting. Or so I thought.

I was wrong.

I never quite sink back to the depths of despair I experienced during the first year after losing him, but almost six years later, I can’t seem to escapeitsclutches completely.Itsclaws latch onto my flesh, tearing at my soul and ripping apart my heart, yet there’s nothing I can do to combat it.

I’m helpless. Atitsmercy.

For the last two weeks, I’ve cried myself to sleep every night and woken every morning with tears soaking my cheeks. This morning is no different as I swipe angrily at the moisture on my face. I know I’ll always carry pain in my heart and a heavy ache in my soul, but feeling this way all the time is exhausting. I’m tired down to my very marrow.

Curling into a ball around Wyatt’s pillow, I make myself as small as possible beneath the burden that’s become too much to carry.

In my heart, I know Wyatt would be disappointed. He’d be pissed that I’m not moving forward at a pace he’d deem appropriate. He was never one to surrender to negativity, but he’s not here. He can’t comfort me, and he certainly can’t tell me that everything will be okay.

Because it willneverbe okay.

“Mom, are you awake?” Evan calls softly through my door.

“Yeah, big guy.” I swipe my cheeks again, trying to remove the evidence of my pain.

“Can I come in?”

I smile wistfully. Ever since he walked in on me dressing, he’s started knocking to check if it’s “safe” to enter, instead of walking in unannounced like he used to. I appreciate it. I do. I’m just sad he’s already at that age.

I place Wyatt’s pillow back on his side of the bed, wipe beneath my eyes, and then sit up. “Sure.” When the door opens, I pat Wyatt’s side of the bed and encourage Evan to step beyond the doorway. “Come and sit with me for a minute.” He climbsonto the bed, and I wrap my arm around him, sliding my fingers through his soft hair. “How are you feeling about starting middle school tomorrow?”

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”

“Did you and Elliott work out a place to meet?” I hate the thought of him being all alone, but what I hate more is that Wyatt isn’t here to see his son moving onto the next stage of his education. He missed Evan’s first day of kindergarten—and first grade—because he was deployed, but we video chatted so he didn’t miss out completely. Now, though, we can’t even do that.

“Yeah, sorta.” He looks up at me with his big brown eyes, just like his dad’s. It doesn’t get any easier to look at Evan and not see Wyatt. The older Evan gets, the more he looks like his father. Even some of his mannerisms are like Wyatt’s, and I would’ve thought that, with the limited time they had together and Evan’s young age, he wouldn’t be so much like his dad.

I was wrong.

About so many things.

I muss his hair a little, noting the length. “I think I’ll trim your hair after breakfast.” I meant to do it last week, but it totally slipped my mind.

He dips away from me, swatting my hand with a frown marring his young face. “I don’t need a trim.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You do. All the kids have fresh cuts for the beginning of the year. I’ll only tidy up the ends a little, but I’m cutting your hair.”

He pouts and climbs from the bed, and I follow suit on the other side, grabbing my robe. “Dammit. Having a hairstylist for a mom is the worst,” he snaps over his shoulder.

I chuckle to myself as I pull my hair free from my robe. “Watch your mouth.” I raise a brow at him. “Meet me downstairs. I’m making pancakes.”

He pops his head back around the doorjamb with a hopeful expression. “Chocolate?”

“I guess I could be persuaded.” We head downstairs, and when Evan sees me place the chocolate chips on the counter, he whoops loudly. He sets the table for two while I mix the batter, and then he stands beside me while I cook the pancakes. “So, what would you like to do on your last day of freedom?” I flip the pancake over, waiting for his answer.

He shrugs. “I was just gonna play Fortnite with my friends.”

I glance out the window. “It’s a nice day. We should do something outside.”

He huffs, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “You always make me go outside just because the weather’s nice. I don’t wanna.”

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