Who did this to him?
Walking toward him, I lower myself on my knees and reach for his hands, clasping them in mine and squeezing.
When I saw the incoming call from him, at first, I thought it was a mistake because we’ve never called each other before. But when I answered, and he cried into the receiver, I demanded to know where he was immediately.
Reaching my hand up, I swipe my thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears falling from his eyes.
He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s frozen to the spot, and I know that feeling all too well.
“My mom,” he finally speaks, looking down at the floor. “She was an addict who cared more about drugs than me. Heroin, cocaine, crack—you name it, she had it,” he takes a sharp breath in. “It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear for a few hours, but when I was three, those hours turn into days.”
Staring up at him from my position on the floor, I hold his hands tighter as he blinks, releasing more tears.
She chose drugs over her child…what sort of mother doesthat?
I thought Elizabeth was the worst mom to ever exist, but his? She takes the cake, and the fucking cherry on top.
“I remember being so hungry, and thirsty. But there was no food in the house, and I wasn’t tall enough to reach the sink to have tap water.”
A lump forms in my throat as I listen to him.
“It took days for the cops to smash the door in after my neighbors called in a welfare check,” his voice wobbles as he continues. “I was curled up on our dirty couch on the brink of death.”
How could a mother…
“I was taken to hospital, but they never found her. She’d either OD’d or just disappeared,” he releases a breath. “They done a DNA test on me to see if my biological father was in the system, and he was.”
It feels like there’s abutcoming.
“But he didn’t want me either,” sniffling, he wipes his nose with his shirt. “He signed his rights away the minute he found out.”
My heart ached for him. Squeezing his hand to let him know I’m still here, and still listening, I urge him to continue.
“So essentially, I was thrown into the system,” he lets out a humorous laugh. “Some homes were…okay, I guess. But most were awful. I felt like I was just another mouth to feed, another problem to deal with. Nobody cared, not really.”
I could see the pain etched into his face, and my eyes welled up.
Every child deserved to be loved.
Every child deserved to feel wanted.
When you look at Greyson, you wouldn't think this is how his childhood was. And with tear-soaked eyes, he goes on to explain more about his childhood. And I can’t helpbut cry with him.
I cry for the little boy who wanted nothing more than to feel loved.
I cry for the Greyson who’s sitting in front of me for believing he’s not worth it.
I cry, and I cry fucking hard.
He deserved so much more than what he was given.
“Greyson,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
“I ran into him.” He says, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
“Who?”
“Sebastian—my dad. And my half-brothers.” He lets out a bitter laugh.
