The defeat in his voice is heartbreaking, and I have no idea what to say. It’s not my place to show Finn pictures of his mom, but it hurts to see him like this.
He nibbles at his snack and colours, and the mood slowly rights itself. I think we’ve moved past it. But when I return from a quick trip to the bathroom, I find the kitchen empty, Finn’s drawing abandoned on the table.
“Finn? Where are you?” I check the living room—nope. “Gus?” I call.
At the sound of his name, Gus pads down the stairs. “Where’s Finn, boy?”
He seems to understand because he turns and heads back up. I follow him to the room I know to be Lachlan’s bedroom, though I’ve never set foot in it before.
Finn sits on the floor by an open closet, a photo album in his lap.
“Finn...” I pause at the threshold, aware this is Lachlan’s space, not mine. “That’s a special book. Maybe you should look at it with your dad, yeah?”
He doesn’t acknowledge me, just keeps on looking at the album, his expression awed, almost reverent. But sad too.
I step into the room, following Finn’s gaze to a photograph of a young woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes cradling a baby Finn. He traces the curve of her hair with one small finger.
“Your mom was beautiful,” I say softly.
Finn nods. Gus sinks to the floor beside him and nudges his knee with a damp nose.
“She had your eyes.”
“You think so?” Finn asks, absently running his fingers through the dog’s fur.
“Definitely.”
He turns the page. “Look, Da doesn’t have any grey hair.” Lachlan beams at the camera, a breeze ruffling his hair as he holds infant Finn by the sea. He looks so much younger, though it can’t be more than six years ago.
Finn keeps flipping through the album. I know it isn’t my place to look at these pictures with him, yet I can’t bring myself to stop him.
“I don’t remember much about my mum,” he says after a while, unprompted. “But sometimes I smell something and it reminds me of her. Like when clothes come out of the washing machine—that smell reminds me of Mum. And sometimes whenI’m falling asleep, I remember her singing to me, but I don’t know if that’s real or just something I made up.”
He studies another page. “I wish... I wish I knew more about her.”
My throat goes tight. All I want is to scoop him up and promise him answers, stories, memories—anything to fill that gap. But I can’t. That’s something only his dad can give him.
I don’t probe, but I get the impression Lachlan hasn’t told Finn much about his mom. And that feels wrong. Even if Finn’s own memories are fuzzy, he deserves to know her through his father’s stories.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LACHLAN
Finn and I are settled on the sofa with Gus sprawled across our feet like a furry blanket. I’ve got my arm around my son, and he’s tucked into my side, watching the telly. This is our time. No distractions, no complications. Just us.
His programme comes to an end, so I reach for the remote and switch off the TV. “All right, wee man. Let’s go run your bath.”
“Okay,” Finn says, his voice quieter than usual. Then, “Da?”
“Aye?”
“What was Mum like?”
The question hits me sideways. “What?”
“Mum. What was she like?”
My chest tightens. We don’t talk about Leanne. Not really.
