Page 75 of October
He frowned slightly, stepping forward like he was afraid to get too close. "They're just... lists of things..."
I shook the carnet at him, the pages fluttering slightly, the receipts rustling like old ghosts. "Iknowwhat they are, Thomas. I canread. They're lists. Notes. Things you... did. For me. For us."
I looked at him, reallylookedat him, "But I don't getwhy. I thought you stopped caring. Years ago."
His face crumpled like I'd just said something unforgivable. "What? You never told me you felt that way."
I almost laughed, sharp and bitter, like broken glass in my throat. "You nevershowedme stuff like this."
We stood there, staring at each other like two people on opposite shores, the tide going out between us. Finally, I looked away. "I need to go to Jimmy. We'll talk tomorrow."
He nodded, jaw tight. "Okay."
I turned before he could see the tears starting to rise. Right now wasn't about me. Right now was about my son's broken heart.
Mine could break later.
I went back inside. Lola was awake and fussy, as expected—already red around the eyes from her interrupted nap, but my mom was there, walking with her back and forth in that slow rhythm only grandmothers seem to master. My dad was in the kitchen with Alice, the two of them setting the table with more noise than necessary. But none of it felt sharp enough to pull my mind away from Jimmy. Everything else blurred, like background noise in a movie where you already know the next scene's going to break you.
I moved down the hall on instinct, my feet already turning toward his room like I'd been walking that path my whole life. I didn't bother knocking. I just opened the door quietly and stepped inside.
He was curled sideways on his bed, arms crossed, knees drawn up—not full fetal position, but close. His face was blotchy, the kind of blotchy you get when you're old enough to know youshouldn't cry but too young to stop it from happening anyway. His eyelashes still wet. His jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.
Fourteen is such a strange age for comfort. Too young to shoulder heartbreak on your own, too old to collapse against your mom's side like when they were small. It's an age of pretending you're fine while breaking in places no one can see. And sitting there, watching him try so hard to keep it together; it made something twist hard in my chest.
I sat down on the edge of his bed, close but not too close. Close enough that if he wanted to lean into me, I'd be there. Far enough that he could pretend I wasn't. For a few seconds, I just sat with him in the quiet, listening to his breath hitch and steady, hitch and steady, the way I used to when he was a newborn learning how to breathe on his own.
My baby. My first. And now his heart was breaking, and there wasn't a bandage in the house that could fix it. No medicine. No quick solution. Justtime, and time is cruel when you're fourteen and your whole chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.
I wanted to fix it. God, I wanted to fix it so badly. I would've done anything to take that pain and put it on my own shoulders, wear it like armor so it wouldn't have to touch him. That's the thing they don't tell you about motherhood, you don't just love them, youbecomethem. Their cuts feel like your own. Their heartbreak feels like someone's reaching inside your ribs and tearing at the softest parts, and the worst part is knowing you can't stop it. Not really. You can soften it. Sit with them. Love them through it. But you can'tstopit.
God, I hated how much this would shape him. I hated that pain always seemed to be the teacher no one wanted but no one could escape.
As mothers, we build our whole lives around the idea of keeping our kids safe, teaching them to look both ways, not to talk to strangers, to eat their vegetables so they grow strong, but no one tells you how helpless you'll feel the first time someone breaks their heart. No one tells you that you can keep them from touching a hot stove, but you can't keep them from falling in love with someone careless.
I sat there wishing for impossible things, that I could build him a life where no one ever made him feel like this again. Where every person who ever loved him would know exactly how to hold him and never let him drop.
But that's not how the world works. All I could do was be here, sitting on the edge of his bed, close but not too close. Ready to hold the pieces when he was ready to hand them to me. Then he opened his mouth, barely above a whisper, like the words hurt to say out loud. "She... didn't want me."
I held my breath.
"She rejected me. In front ofeveryone." His voice cracked at the edges, humiliation crawling all over it. "I thought she liked me. I was nice to her. I—I made her presents, like little stupid things, I don't know. I waited for her after class because she didn't want to go home alone. I thought I was doing it right."
His knuckles were white, fists clenched against his knees. His jaw trembled but he wouldn't cry again.
"All that time," he kept going, "she... she wanted my best friend.Allthat time, Mom. And when I finally asked her—" He looked at me then, eyes shining with tears of betrayal and shame—"She laughed at me. Shelaughedat me, Mom."
That was it. That was the thing breaking him, not just rejection, butbeing made small. Being made into a joke in front of everyone when he was only ever trying to begood. I didn't even think. I moved in and wrapped my arms around him before I could second guess if he wanted it or not. Screw fourteen. Screw embarrassment.
"Hey, hey," I whispered fiercely, my hand in his hair like when he was little, "you're safe. I've got you. You're going to be okay, I promise."
He didn't move at first. But then he let his forehead drop against my shoulder, and that was all I needed.
"This doesn't mean anything about who you are, Jimmy. Nothing. Someone else's cruelty doesn't get to define you.Shedoesn't get to tell you who you are. You hear me?"
His shoulders shuddered once, but he nodded. I pressed my lips to his hair.
"You're going to love again, and one day, someone is going tobegfor the kind of love you give. I know it feels huge right now," I said quietly, carefully, like I was trying to hold his heart without pressing too hard. " honestly... itishuge. First heartbreak always is. It feels like everything's ending, because in your world—it kind of is. But you'll survive this, Jimmy. And one day, someone's going to love you the wayyouwant to be loved. Not just what they think love is, but the way you understand it."
