Tom's expression doesn't change. "Is that right?"
"Yeah. He says they're myths and I should find a new interest." Jackson says it very matter-of-factly, repeating words he's clearly heard multiple times. "He says only babies like dinosaurs."
"Well, your daddy is wrong." Tom's voice is calm, certain. "Dinosaurs are absolutely real. They lived millions of years ago, and we know about them because scientists found their bones buried in the ground. Fossils, they're called."
Jackson's eyes go wide. "Really?"
"Really. In fact, there are museums full of dinosaur skeletons, real bones that you can go see. The Natural History Museum has a T-Rex that's three stories tall."
"Three stories!" Jackson looks at me. "Mommy, can we go see it?"
"Maybe someday, baby." My trembling voice sounds strange to my own ears.
I can feel Tom looking at me, but I don't meet his eyes. I'm too busy trying to control the rage building in my chest.
Derek told Jackson that dinosaurs weren't real. Told my four-year-old son to find a new interest because this one was beneath him. And I let him. I sat there and watched my son's face fall, watched him try to please his father by putting away his dinosaur books and his toy collection, and I did nothing.
Another failure to add to the list. Another way I didn't protect my child.
"Your daddy might not know much about dinosaurs," Tom continues, still talking to Jackson like this is a normal conversation. "But that's okay. Not everyone does. The important thing is that you keep learning about the things you love. That's what makes life interesting."
"Do you know a lot about dinosaurs?" Jackson asks.
"Some. Not as much as you, probably. But I know enough to tell you that they're real, and they're fascinating, and anyone who says different just doesn't understand science."
Jackson beams, chocolate-smeared and happy. "I like you."
"I like you too, buddy."
It's such a simple exchange. Such a small moment. But something in my chest cracks watching this man, this stranger, validate my son in a way Derek never did. In a way I should have done a lot more.
Tom catches my eye over Jackson's head. There's a question there, concern maybe, but he doesn't push. He doesn't ask about the daddy who isn't here, and who apparently thinks dinosaurs are myths.
I'm grateful for that. I'm not ready to explain. Not sure I'll ever be ready.
We finish our breakfast in relative quiet, Jackson too busy eating to talk, Tom sipping his coffee and watching the morning traffic through the window. I drink my coffee too fast, burning my tongue, needing something to do with my hands.
"So," Tom says eventually. "If you're up for it, I could walk you over to the library now. It's just a few blocks. Then we can head to Murphy's after. He should be opening up around now, and it'll be easier to talk before the lunch rush hits."
The offer is casual, practical even. But something about it makes my defenses spike.
"You don't have to do that," I say quickly. "You've already done so much. I'm sure you have work to do."
"Nothing that can't wait an hour." He takes a sip of his coffee, his expression easy. "Besides, Mrs. Walker can be a little overwhelming if you don't know her. Might help to have someone make introductions."
Jackson bounces in his seat. "Can we go now? Please?"
I look at my son's eager face, then back at Tom. He's watching me with those steady blue eyes, patient, not pushing. Just offering. This is how it starts, a voice in my head warns. Small favors. Little kindnesses. Making yourself indispensable until you're everywhere, controlling everything, and I don't even notice until it's too late.
But another part of me, the part that's exhausted and scared and so desperately tired of doing everything alone, wants to say yes. Wants to accept the help. Wants to believe that maybe, just this once, someone is exactly who they appear to be.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Thank you. That would be... helpful."
Tom's smile is small but genuine. "Good. Let's get going then."
The walk to the library takes less than five minutes. Jackson skips ahead, making Rex hop along the sidewalk, while Tom and I follow at a slower pace. He keeps a respectful distance between us, not crowding, not touching, just walking alongside.
Main Street is charming in the morning light: small shops with hand-painted signs, flower boxes on the windowsills, a genuine old-fashioned streetlamp every few yards. It looks like something out of a movie, the kind of small town that doesn't really exist anymore.
