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We stood to place flowers on her casket one at a time.
“Mommy,” Tristan tugged on the skirt of my dress. It warmed my heart that he’d had no hesitation in calling me mom instead of Row once I told him the truth. The little boy hadn’t even batted an eye.
“What is it, baby?” I asked, looking down at him.
“That man keeps staring at me,” he pointed towards a tree behind us, enough distance away that it was difficult to see, but there was no mistaking that form. My mouth parted with a gasp.
Trenton.
He knew and he was here.
I dared to hope that a part of him still cared for me. In reality though, he was probably only here because of Tristan.
“It’s okay,” I smiled at Tristan. “That’s your daddy.”
Tristan’s blue eyes widened with surprise. “That’s my daddy?” He echoed my words back to me.
“Yes,” my voice was soft as I played with the silky strands of his nearly blond hair.
“Wow,” Tristan gasped.
It was time for me to place my flower on the casket, so our conversation was cut short.
When I stepped back in front of my chair I gasped as Jim’s hand found my butt. That dirty fucker—
Trace cleared his throat, placing his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Take your hand off of her now.” His tone spoke of dire consequences if Jim didn’t comply.
Jim’s hand dropped from my butt and he stared ahead as if nothing had ever happened.
When I looked back to where Trent had been standing, I saw his form retreating, his head bowed.
I guessed he couldn’t stand to look at me any longer.
I had to be okay though. I’d known this would happen and now that the truth was out there, there was nothing I could do. He knew of Tristan and he knew I loved him. I couldn’t keep fighting for something that was never going to happen. It was pointless.
“Mommy?” Tristan asked. “Where’d the man go?
I thought you said he was my daddy? Doesn’t he want to say hi to me?”
Tristan’s words broke my already shattered heart into pieces that more closely resembled dust than shards.
I bent so I was at his level—I always hated towering above him when I spoke.
“I know he wants to say hi to you,” I rubbed his cheek, noting the tears shimmering in his blue eyes, “but he can’t right now. Okay?”
Tristan nodded. “Is he going to live with us?”
“No, sweetie,” I kissed his forehead. “He’s not. One day, when you’re older, you’ll understand this better.”
Tristan tilted his head, shrugging his small shoulders and that was that. Kids could let things roll off them better than adults could. They didn’t understand the harsh sting of rejection.
“Come on, Tristan,” Trace reached for the boy. “Want a piggyback ride?”
“Yay!” Tristan shrieked in delight as Trace hoisted him onto his back. It should have been Trent doing that, not Trace, but I was still thankful for the gesture.
Ivy’s hand clasped in mine and I glanced down at her. She looked so much older than an eight year old, more like a teenager. Her light hair was long, curling down her back, and her hazel eyes were wide and expressive. She looked like a miniature version of me. I knew we both had different dads—like mine, hers hadn’t stuck around—so we both inherited our looks from our mom. I had seen pictures of my mom when she was younger, and she had been beautiful, but her attitude and lifestyle had turned her into an ugly person.
Trace ran towards the cars, with Tristan’s arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Tristan’s giggle carried back to us with the breeze. It made me smile watching Tristan interact with his uncle.
