My son – our son – was sleeping peaceful on the couch. A light blanket was thrown over him and his chest rose and fell gently.
“He fell asleep almost as soon as we got here. I woke him up to eat lunch and gave him another dose of the medicine in the bag. He watched television for a few minutes but went right back to sleep. He’s been sleeping most of the time. Is that normal for him?”
My eyes remained on the small child, my mother’s eyes meticulously cataloguing his every feature and searching for anything that might be off.
Luckily, all I saw were the normal signs of a child recovering from a mild sickness.
I answered Wyatt without moving my gaze, giving Noah another automatic sweep of my gaze. “The medication makes him drowsy plus he tends to sleep a lot when he’s sick. He’s no worse for wear. He will get over this soon.”
Thank goodness!
I pushed Noah’s hair back and kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment. Noah didn’t move but continued to sleep, his breathing easy.
A silence filled the room. I ignored it until it became too loud for me to continue doing so.
Steeling myself, I moved my eyes to the man who stood like an imposing mountain at the entrance of the room.
He was watching me.
For a moment I swore I saw a softening in his look as he gazed upon the image Noah and I made. But the look was gone much too quickly for me to believe it was anything more than my imagination.
The molten fury simmering in the depths of his eyes was certainly real though. Shit.
The intensity of his look left me momentarily speechless. Finally I said, “We need talk.”
That was an understatement if there ever was one.
His eyebrow rose as if to say, obviously, then said out loud, “Follow me.”
He turned without waiting for my answer or reaction.
I watched his back as he walked to his bedroom.
Giving Noah one last look, I took a deep breath and followed him.
Inside the bedroom, I briefly looked around and noticed that the bedroom had all the essentials – bed, dresser, bedside table – but like the rest of the apartment lacked any true touch from this man. He had obviously only just moved in and had made no effort to infuse the space with his personality as yet.
I turned to him and saw that he had pushed the door to almost closing. He left a small space that allowed us to hear if Noah needed us but also afforded us a small amount of privacy.
There was more heavy silence until he finally broke it.
“What the fuck Hailey? Why? Why did you keep this from me? You had no right. Absolutely no right.”
His words seemed hurt and I swallowed, pushing back the sudden prick of tears. His anger I expected and kind of understood. His sorrow was unanticipated and worse than I imagined.
I couldn’t stand to hurt Wyatt. Not back then and not now. Knowing I did so was being stabbed a knife through my heart. This was all my fault.
My voice was croaked when I spoke for the first time.
“I was going to tell you. Please believe I never meant for so much time to pass before I did. I screwed up,” I said.
His jaw ticked and his anger exploded in venomous hisses that left no traces of the hurt I thought I saw.
“When Hailey? When he was in his twenties and I had completely missed all the important moments in watching him grow up? What the fuck did you think you were accomplishing by keeping my own flesh and blood from me? Think long and hard before you answer me because your answer had better be fucking good or God help you,” he whisper-shouted.
His tone was grating and instantly my hackles rose, a natural defense mechanism I had developed over the years. Heartbreak and motherhood had taught me to toughen up or life would have swallowed me whole and spit out an emotional mess by now.
“Don’t you dare think you can threaten me Wyatt Murphy! I know I was wrong, but you won’t do this,” I returned in an irate whisper.