Page 4 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
“Mommy, why don’t we have neighbors like in my books?” Eli asks suddenly, pressing the tape down firmly with a tiny finger.
“Because neighbors are overrated,” I joke, though a pang of guilt hits my chest.
I know what he’s really asking. He sees the kids in storybooks playing together, riding bikes, and going to school. He’s getting to the age where he wants friends, and I’m too scared to give that to him. It’s something I ache to give him, but this isolation is part of our safety.
“Plus, Rocket’s not good with neighbors. He only really likes us, you know.”
He giggles again, the question forgotten for now, but it lingers in my thoughts as we continue with our day. We homeschool during the day, his eager little mind soaking up letters and numbers faster than I ever did. It works, but it isn’t the same as having friends his age. I wish things were different. But as muchas the loneliness creeps in sometimes, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. Loneliness is better than fear.
The day passes in a familiar rhythm. Eli and I work on his letters and math until early afternoon. We read books sprawled on the rug, then head outside to chase Rocket around the yard. Evenings are my favorite, when we make dinner and eat beneath the stars. It’s peaceful, filled with laughter and stories. And tonight, it’s spaghetti night, Eli’s absolute favorite.
He bounces in his chair as I ladle pasta onto his plate, his blue eyes shining brighter than the tiny battery-powered lantern beside us.
“Mommy, did you know astronauts eat spaghetti in space?” he informs me with serious conviction, twirling noodles around his fork.
“Wow,” I reply, pretending astonishment. “Who knew spaghetti was so cosmic?”
He nods vigorously. “It is. So maybe one day, we’ll eat spaghetti in space.”
“I like your style, kid.” I laugh. “Dream big.”
After dinner, Eli drifts off, worn out from his adventures and endless questions about space pasta. I tuck him in, brushing soft curls off his forehead and pressing a gentle kiss there.
“Love you, Mommy,” he murmurs sleepily, snuggling closer to his stuffed bear.
“I love you too, baby,” I whisper, lingering a little longer before closing his bedroom door behind me.
Alone now, I lean against the kitchen counter, savoring the quiet. It's funny how silence can feel both comforting and suffocating. I love our life here. I truly do. However, sometimes the weight of being the only adult around, the sole protector, and the one who must always remain vigilant can be overwhelming.
Shaking away the sudden melancholy, I rinse the dishes, humming. It’s nights like this that remind me why every difficult day, every lonely moment, is worth it. Eli is safe. He’s happy. He’s free to grow up without the shadows of my past haunting his every move.
I finish up, step onto the porch again, and settle into the old rocking chair, pulling my cardigan tighter against the chill. Rocket curls up at my feet, his warmth a comforting presence.
The stars glitter overhead, so clear and bright out here that sometimes I forget how dark the world can be. An owl hoots, and I lean back, eyes drifting closed, letting the calm of the evening wrap around me. My world is quiet. Safe. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that it might stay that way.
Until the shrill ring of my cell phone shatters the peace, my heart jolts, and I nearly fall out of my chair, scrambling for it, hands shaking. Only one person calls this phone. And the reason can’t be good.
“Hello? Agent Morales?” My voice shakes as I answer, dread already pooling in my stomach.
“Ava,” Morales’ voice comes through crisp and urgent. “We’ve got a problem. Randy’s getting out.”
2
AVA
“What do you mean he’s out? How is that possible?”
My voice shakes, breath hitching in my chest as if the air around me has gone too thin. Five years of freedom, of peace, of safety—shattered in an instant.
Agent Morales sighs heavily into the phone, sounding as exhausted and angry as I feel. “New evidence, supposedly. Something’s casting doubt on his original conviction. Randy’s lawyer dug up a technicality, and now they’ve secured conditional bail and a temporary stay of the case.”
Conditional bail. My stomach drops at those two little words. “So, he’s free? Just like that?”
“He’s out,” Morales confirms bitterly. “And with the new evidence introduced, the government’s now focusing on smaller charges. We’re looking at only taking down a few of the lower men. The Don, the cartel, the whole organization, everything I’ve worked on for years, is slipping through our fingers because of a corrupt judge and a bullshit technicality.”
I clutch the phone harder, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. This is exactly the nightmare I feared, the scenario I convinced myself wouldn’t happen as long as I stayed hidden, kept quiet, followed every rule. But here we are, my worst fear realized in a single phone call.
“How could this happen?” I whisper hoarsely, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. The cool wood beneath my palm does nothing to steady the trembling that’s overtaking my entire body.
