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Guilt racks through me realizing this. I shouldn't be this way, I should've invested fully into the role of a father. And none of this is Austin's fault – he doesn't deserve this shitty situation he's been thrust into. Yet I can't help my emotions. Every time I see him, I imagine his mother as Willa instead. But that's never going to happen.
Softly closing the nursery door behind me, I walk back into my study and place the baby monitor on my desk. My laptop lights up as I sit down at my desk, and I instantly check the sugar baby website.
I've become addicted to Willa, even though she has no idea I'm the one paying for her. But she seems so happy in New York. Every day, she regales me with stories of everything she's seen, heard and been through. Every day in that city seems like an adventure for her.
At the same time, I can't help but notice the changes in her when she sends the rare photo or video. She's thin, so painfully thin her bones jut out awkwardly. Her hair has gotten longer, but lost some of its shine, and her eyes seem full of pain. She's paler than ever and sometimes she seems a little lost. Her eyes swim around the room. She seems so far away. But that's probably just because I'm seeing her through a screen.
I have no doubt my trouble is having the time of her life in New York. It's what she wanted and what she worked so hard for. I know Parsons is a tough school, but she seems to be excelling and I couldn't be happier for her.
And yet it stings.
It stings like a motherfucker, watching her live the happy life she could only have by me breaking up with her.
She hasn't mentioned me to the persona I've built online, not once. She doesn't talk about other men either, to be fair, but the fact that my name has not once crossed her lips hurts like hell.
She must've forgotten all about me already. After all, I was nothing but a bleep on her radar, a bad experience she had to have so she could move on with the life she always wanted.
Obviously, she's moved on.
Obviously, she doesn't think of me anymore.
And obviously, she's so much happier now that I'm out of the picture. And I have no right to disrupt the happy life Willa has built for herself. I already feel guilty enough for staying in touch with her, but I can't stay away. I'm addicted to her just like I've always been.
Every time she ends our calls or doesn't text back it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. Every night I fall asleep without her in my arms, I wish I were fucking dead so the pain would ease. But Willa's happy. And that's the one thing that keeps me going.
I send her money sometimes, telling her I'm doing it so she'll stay exclusive with me and not chat to other men on the app. I don't know whether she actually does that. But it makes me feel better, as much as I want a happy future for her. I just can't imagine sharing her with anyone else.
She probably has a boyfriend by now. Some artsy New York hipster who makes her oat milk lattes and kisses all the spots I used to kiss.
The thought fills me with pain and I shake my head to get it out. As hard as I've tried to get over her, I can't forget Willa.
I check on my son and grab a drink before heading back to my computer. I'm avoiding the moment of messaging her, blindly hoping she'll text first. That I'm not just some random internet stranger paying her, that she realizes deep down it's me. But she doesn't text.
Defeated, I send the first message.
Got time for a quick video call?
I lean back in my chair, and the reply comes back soon after.
Not today. You can call me if you want, though.
I'm a fool for her and I'll do anything just to hear her voice. I send her the agreed upon amount for voice calls and plug in my headphones, calling her.
"Hello."
Her voice seems far away, but that's probably just because she is. I'm still using special software to change the sound of my voice. Willa has complained about it before, but I told her I'm not changing it. I can't risk her realizing it's me on the other end of the line.
"Hello," I reply softly. "How were classes today?"
"Wonderful," she replies dreamily, making me smile. "We're doing a project this month, a runway. And one of my designs is going out first."
"That's great. So you're happy?"
She pauses, not answering and making me worry. When she speaks again, her voice is colder, more detached, and I have to remind myself she doesn't know it's me before realizing if she did, she'd probably be even colder.
