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Her eyes blinked, and I shoved her away from me, pulling the door shut as I left. I left the blanket on the floor and went out to my car.
“Ready to see Grampa?”
“Gampa!” Dillon kicked his little legs and bounced while I tried to secure him in the car-seat.
My son sang along happily in the backseat while I drove us out to the rehab center.
After a few starts and stops, my dad finally made it a full year sober. My mom couldn’t be bothered with supporting him, but supporting him was everything to me.
He still hadn’t filed for divorce from her, because deep down, he loved her. I understood that. Had I been in love with Victoria, I would’ve done anything for her.
When we arrived at the center, I got Dillon out of his seat and held his hand to walk inside. Dad was waiting for us and he rushed over, scooping the boy up.
“What happened to your face?”
“Mama mean.” Dillon put his head on dad’s shoulder.
“She didn’t like the divorce papers.” I shrugged. “Hold him and I’ll go clean up.”
Letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding; I slipped into the men’s room and splashed some water on my face.
Her nails got me good on my right cheek. I looked like I lost a fight with a big cat.
He’s not yours.
Those three little words made my stomach pitch.
She’s just being hateful.
Leaving the bathroom, my son ran towards me with a breadstick in his hand and I caught him swinging him up in the air to make him giggle.
“Yum!” He held out the breadstick for me to try.
At this age, he doesn’t question fake bites, and I played along until it was time for the ceremony.
“Dillon, we need to be quiet and listen.” I whispered into his ear.
“Ohtay, da.”
We sat in the back of the room and listened while one of the therapists gave his speech congratulating those who made it a full year sober.
Giving Dillon a squeeze, I realized that for the first time in a very long time, I felt hope.
I pressed a kiss to his downy head, whispering, “You have one of the best grandpa’s out there, kiddo.”
“Gampa!” He yelled out and mangled the breadstick clapping.
The room laughed, and the therapist motioned to us. “That’s the support we all need.”
Dillon didn’t look like me in the face and he had his mother’s blue eyes. He had my temperament and was a great baby, too. He rarely cried and loved to be held.
With me.
He hated being near his mother. As a matter of fact, he never went to her.
He’s not yours.
Cheers filled the room, startling me and Dillon raised his tiny fists in the air as he let out a cheer, losing the rest of his breadstick.
