Page 5 of Shattered Promise

Pediatrician appointment on Thursday. Don’t forget to pack snacks. Love you.

Her handwriting is neat. Practical. Familiar in a way I didn’t realize I’d miss until I knew it was leaving.

One week. Then she will be gone to Crestwood for my younger brother, Callum’s, hockey season. And it’ll be just me and Theo.

It’s not like I haven’t been doing this. I have. Every day. Every night. But knowing she was across town—it was a safety net. A last line of defense, if I needed it. And I have. Less lately, maybe. But still.

Now it’s all on me.

I move to the sink, rinse out a couple of sippy cups, and set them upside down on the drying rack. Outside the window, the fog is burning off in streaks, revealing the land beneath—greenand raw, quiet. It stretches out behind the house for almost ten acres, give or take. That number sounded good on paper. A fresh start. Room to grow.

But now? Now it just feels like one more thing I have to figure out how to manage.

The house itself is nothing fancy. Single story, low-slung, old ranch bones with sun-faded siding and windows that still need new trim. The inside is functional, barely. I fixed what needed fixing first: plumbing, heat, the kitchen floor that used to slope like a funhouse.

The pole barn sits about seventy feet out, down a gravel path past the side porch. That was the first project I threw real money at. I had to. I needed a place to work again—somewhere to take on contract jobs without hauling back and forth across town. The barn’s big, steel-framed and insulated, with space for three lifts and a workbench that runs nearly the length of the wall.

And in the corner, tucked away behind a series of makeshift gates and foam mats, I built a spot for Theo. A safe zone. Padded, clean, stocked with toys and a pack-and-play. If I’m going to work, he needs to be with me. Not somewhere I’m constantly worrying if he’s okay.

Because being his dad doesn’t shut off when I’m clocked in. There’s no clock. There’s just this.

A vibration buzzes against the counter and my phone screen lights up.

I swipe to answer and tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear as I dry my hands on a dish towel. “Hey, Ma."

“Morning,” she chirps—too bright for this early. “Just checking in. How’s my grandson?”

I lean my ass against the counter and look at Theo. “He’s good. I think he might be cutting another tooth. He’s going to town on his stuffy.” I'm going to have to steal his stuffed lion during nap time and toss him in the wash.

She hums like she already suspected it. “Try some of the frozen teethers in the freezer."

"Yeah, I will."

“I know you’re figuring things out,” she says, slower now, like she’s choosing her words one at a time. “But have you thought any more about part-time childcare? Just to give you a little breathing room?”

My jaw ticks. I turn toward the window, watching the way sunlight cuts across the overgrown yard like a slow-moving spotlight.

“I’m fine, Ma. Besides, I like him close.”

“Maybe a nanny then?” she hedges, her voice careful, soft.

I swallow down the scoff building in my throat. “Yeah, I’m not letting some random woman roam around my house all day.”

She sighs, and I feel it through the phone. That familiar, long-suffering exhale that used to meanMason, you’re being stubborn again.

I drag a hand over the back of my neck and glance at Theo. He’s laser-focused on the Cheerios, shoving them into his mouth with chubby fists. When he looks up, he flashes me a gummy grin, two tiny teeth catching the light.

My chest tightens. That same sharp swell of love. It's overwhelming and terrifying. But it also makes me feel complete in a way I’ve never known.

“I know you want to do everything yourself,” she says, gentler now. “But we all need help sometimes, honey. Even you.”

I don’t say anything. Not because I disagree—I don’t. She’s right. But hearing it out loud feels like admitting I might not be enough. That I can’t hold it all together on my own. And Ihaveto hold it together. For Theo. For me.

The silence stretches, feeling heavy.

“Well you’ve got me for another week,” she adds before I can answer. “Why don’t I make a few calls? Just see what’s out there. A backup, in case of emergencies.”

I shift my weight, the dish towel still clenched in one hand. Theo slaps both palms on his highchair tray like he’s giving final judgment on the matter.

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