Page 8 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
“Hey, buddy,” I say, forcing a smile as I enter the room. “We have to pack up, okay? We have a big adventure, and we don’t want to miss the people waiting for us.”
He looks up curiously, bright eyes widening with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. “An adventure?”
I nod enthusiastically, trying to keep my voice steady and upbeat. “Yep. We need to grab a few things and head out fast. Can you help me?”
Eli leaps from the bed immediately, always eager for anything labeled an “adventure.” The trust in his eyes, the way he believes me, twists at my heart. He doesn’t deserve this fear, this hurried escape, but there’s no choice.
Together, we shove clothes and essentials into the old duffel bag I’d hidden under his bed. It’s worn, the same bag from five years ago when we first ran, and the familiarity sends another wave of dread washing over me.
“Mommy, what about Rocket?” Eli's voice is small and worried. “He won’t know where we went.”
My heart lurches. In my rush, I’d forgotten Rocket completely, and now Eli’s eyes fill with tears, looking up at me with pure heartbreak. Guilt twists, nearly suffocating me, but I can’t afford to let it slow us down.
“We’ll leave Rocket some food,” I tell him, moving toward the kitchen, my mind screaming at the delay.
Eli trails behind, gripping my sweater, tears now spilling silently down his cheeks. I grab a can of tuna from the cupboard, wrenching it open and setting it out near Rocket’s bowl.
“See, sweetie?” I say, kneeling to Eli’s level. “Rocket will have something good to eat until we come back. We’ll come back for him soon, I promise.”
The promise feels heavy and wrong, an assurance I have no right to make, but Eli needs comfort, needs something to cling to. His eyes search mine, desperate to believe me, even though confusion clouds his small face.
“You promise?” he whispers, clutching the edge of my sweater even tighter.
“I promise,” I repeat, forcing as much conviction as I can into my voice. My stomach churns, knowing the lie could shatter his trust completely. But I have no choice. Right now, my only priority is getting him safely away from here.
Eli nods, wiping the tears from his cheeks, bravery shining through despite his lingering fear. He grabs his favorite stuffed bear from the couch, holding it against his chest, as if it alone can protect him from what’s coming next.
“Ready, baby?” I ask, reaching for his hand.
He nods bravely again, gripping my fingers with fierce determination. “Ready, Mommy.”
We step toward the door, my heart pounding harder with each step. The cabin, once a sanctuary filled with warmth and safety, now feels foreign, a place of danger and uncertainty. The memories we’ve built here tug painfully at my heart, but there’s no time to linger.
I glance back one last time, my eyes catching the image of Rocket’s bowl, the tuna waiting untouched. My throat tightens, emotion threatening to choke me, but I force it down.
“Okay, Eli,” I say, my voice shaking. “Time for our adventure.”
Holding onto my son’s hand, I open the door, stepping out into uncertainty, leaving everything we’ve known behind. Eli’s small, trusting face tilts up at me, filled with a mixture of courage and sadness. I can tell part of him doesn’t fully believe my adventure lie. My son is so smart, too smart for his age in many ways. God, would it be better to just tell him the truth? I’ve kept the truth about his father, the truth about me, the truth about our life from him since he was born. It always felt like the better thing to do, but for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if lying isn’t justcausing more damage. My throat tightens, emotion threatening to choke me, but I force it down.
The car sits at the edge of the driveway, keys cold and heavy in my hand as I unlock the doors. Eli climbs into his booster seat, his small frame dwarfed by the booster seat’s padding and straps. My fingers fumble with the buckle, and I force myself to slow down, inhaling deeply until the latch clicks firmly into place. Eli’s eyes follow my movements silently, waiting patiently for the reassurance he needs but won’t ask for aloud.
“All set?” I ask, brushing the hair from his forehead, the silky strands slipping through my fingers.
He nods, his expression solemn. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” I promise, praying that it’s true.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I glance at the old GPS. The outdated display flashes to life, a relic from the last time I fled with nothing but a duffel bag and a baby kicking inside me. It was supposed to be a symbol of a new beginning, a chance at freedom. Now it just feels like a cruel joke, looping me back to where I started five years ago.
I shift into drive, glancing in the rearview mirror as the cabin shrinks behind us. My pulse quickens, anxiety coiling in my chest. How many times have I dreamed of leaving this cabin behind? Always under the triumphant image of Randy’s downfall, of victory and safety. Not like this, running again with nothing but fear driving us forward.
Silence fills the car, heavy and oppressive as I pull onto the main road that connects our small plot of private forest to the nearest interstate. My heart pounds in rhythm with the tires rolling over the rough pavement. The road winds endlessly ahead, every mileputting distance between us and the fragile safety we’d clung to for five years. Fear gnaws at the edges of my mind, relentless and unforgiving.
Forty-five minutes pass in a blur, the fuel gauge dipping steadily toward empty, forcing me to face the reality of stopping. A gas station appears on the horizon, the neon lights blinking unevenly in the dimming twilight. Pulling up beside a worn pump, I switch off the engine, anxiety fluttering in my stomach.
Eli stirs as the car falls silent, blinking sleepily at me. “Are we there?”
“Not yet, buddy. But we need to get gas, okay?”
