One Missed Call Killed Our Baby

Chapter 6

I carefully gathered the last of Matthew's ashes and placed them back into the urn. I wiped it clean, gently, like I was brushing hair from his forehead one last time. Then I lowered it into the grave I had prepared for him, my hands steady this time. Nobody tried to stop me.

Claire looked like she wanted to say something, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. Smart move. After what she did to my son's grave, who knows what I might've done if she opened it again?

When I finished, I looked her dead in the eye and said, "He's all yours."

My voice was flat. Emotionless.

I didn't feel anything when I said it, no sadness, no guilt. Just cold clarity. He was trash to me now. Let her have him.

And with that, I turned around and walked away.

I could feel Andrew's eyes burning into my back, but I didn't turn around. Not this time.

I drove straight to the house Andrew and I used to share.

Every room was a memory waiting to hurt me.

It was here, on lonely nights when Andrew was off somewhere with Claire, that Matthew and I would curl up in bed together. He'd wrap his tiny arms around me and fall asleep before his favorite cartoon finished playing.

I walked slowly through each room, touching the little things he left behind, his toy truck under the couch, his crayon drawings still taped to the fridge, the tiny shirts still hanging neatly in the closet like he might come back to wear them.

Every object felt like a dagger, but also a piece of him I couldn't let go of.

People always talk about how much kids owe their parents.

But the truth is, I never wanted anything from Matthew.

He didn't owe me a thing.

He was my son, yes. But more than that, he was my saving grace.

Raising him gave my life a warmth and purpose I didn't even know I was missing.

He made me want to be better.

He made me feel whole.

I remember once, he looked up at me with those big, sparkling eyes and said, "Mom, I'm gonna love you longer than you love me."

I laughed and asked, "How come?"

He said, "Because you started loving me when you were twenty-nine, but I've loved you since the day I was born. You'll love me for the rest of your life... but I'll love you for all of mine."

That boy… he had a heart too big for his little body.

We had our routines. Late-night movies and popcorn. Morning cuddles where he'd whisper about his dreams. Afternoons in the park where his laughter would echo as he swung higher and higher, shouting, "Watch me, Mom!"

And those little things…

Like how he'd grab my hand tight every time we crossed the street.

Or how he'd lean his head on my arm in the car, humming along to the radio.

He was my miracle. My reason. My everything.

Now, standing in this empty house, surrounded by the ghost of his laughter and the echo of his little footsteps, I felt like the world had stopped turning.

My baby...

Why didn't you live as long as you promised?