“Hey, buddy,” I’d whisper, my voice thick with emotion, tears streaming down my face as I stared at the pixelated image. “It’s Dad. I miss you so much it hurts. I’m trying so hard to get better for you. For Mom. I love you.”
Hadley would watch from the background, her eyes tired but not angry. “He’s okay,” she’d say softly. “Growing fast.”
By week two, she started opening up a little, her face on the screen softening as we talked.
“How’s he sleeping?” I asked one night, wiping my eyes after a particularly rough therapy session.
“Better,” she said, propping the phone so I could see Asher in his bassinet. “Still wakes up every three hours, but he’s gaining weight. The doctor’s happy.”
“And Eli?”
“Adjusting. He loves the new apartment. The constellations in the nursery, you did that?”
“Yeah,” I said, my heart aching. “For you. He told me about the stars.”
She paused, eyes glistening. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
“How are you?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Really?”
A long pause. “Tired. Overwhelmed. But… okay. One day at a time.”
By week three, she shared moments that made me laugh through the tears.
“He smiled today,” she said, holding up a video on her screen. “Full, gummy smile. Zariah caught it.”
I watched it on loop during the call, my chest tight with joy and regret. “God, that’s beautiful. Send it to me? Please?”
“I will,” she promised. “He’s got your dimples.”
I choked on a sob. “I miss him. Miss you both so much.”
“We miss you too,” she whispered, and it felt like a lifeline.
Week four: “He rolled over today,” she said, her face lighting up on the screen. “Scared the hell out of me, I turned around for two seconds.”
I laughed, wiping fresh tears. “I wish I could’ve seen it. He’s getting so big already.”
“You will,” she said softly, her eyes meeting mine through the camera.
“When you’re out. Keep going, Cal. You’re doing good.”
Day twenty-eight: “One more week.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“I’m scared to see you. Scared you’ll look at me and still see the guy who hurt you.”
“I’m scared too,” she admitted. “But… we’ll figure it out. For Asher.”
I hung up crying, quiet, grateful tears.
The day I got out, I stood at the curb in sweatpants and a hoodie, duffel at my feet, heart hammering like it might burst from my chest.
A black SUV pulled up.
Hadley was driving. Asher’s car seat was in the back.
My eyes immediately glazed over.
