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“What is it, Isaac? And without being rude. It’s just you and me; it’s only ever been you and me.”
“That’s not true anymore, though, is it? It’s exactly what Elliot said, you came home here just so you could be with Freddy again.”
I grab Isaac’s hand. “No, I came back here to look after your nan. Why are you so anti-Freddy now? Christmas was just a few weeks ago and you guys were getting on fine. Why are you being like this?”
He pulls his hand roughly away from my touch. “I want to know about my real dad. The guy you never told. I want to know who he is, Mum. I can’t keep putting up with you giving me all these fake dads.” Isaac is a vibrant shade of red, his anger making him appear combustible.
I can’t inhale any air into my lungs. “Isaac. Elliot and Freddy, their feelings for you have never been fake. Elliot and I may not have been able to make it work, but he loved you, he still loves you.”
“But you didn’t love him, did you? You’ve only ever loved Freddy.” A tingle of pink warms my cheeks when my son bares the truth for me in black and white.
“That’s Elliot talking and he’s kinda cross with me right now.”
“But you came back here hoping that Freddy would still be here.”
“No! The opposite.” Large rolls of tears slide down my cheeks. “I came back here hoping I’d never have to see him again.”
“Why?”
“Because he broke my heart and made me want to run away and leave. I was very unhappy until I had you.”
“But you forgave him so easily. It doesn’t make sense.” Isaac’s eyebrows knot together, and he worries the rag of his nail.
I offer a bitter laugh. “I think forgiveness is different when you’re older, Isaac. He had to forgive me for things too. Worse than what he did to me.”
A steady silence fills the car.
“Mum. Who’s my dad?”
A terrible weight hangs heavy on my heart. “I can’t tell you.” The words kill me to say. I want to tell him, but Freddy’s waited all these months. Patiently waiting for the right time. I can’t not let him be here when Isaac finds out the truth.
“You are such a liar,” he screams at me, flinging open the door and running off into the woods. I jump out and chase after him, leaving the car unlocked and open behind me. Stumbling over tree roots and sliding on thick mud, I try to catch up with my son.
“Isaac, wait!” I holler after him, but he doesn’t slow down, his steps taking him deeper and deeper into the unfamiliar woods.
I should be faster than him, I’m bigger after all, but Isaac is able to weave with dexterous speed through the skeletal winter trees. The spindly branches drag and tear at my sleeve and jacket as I run past, one vicious thorn hooking itself into my cuff. Cursing, I turn and unhook myself and then again search for Isaac’s path, following the sight of his blue jacket. But the blue jacket is gone, and Isaac is gone, his anger driving him away from me. I know I should use my ears to listen for footsteps, the crack of twigs, something useful, but all I can hear is the sound of my breath and the wild beating of my heart as I realise that I’ve lost my son, the one thing I’ve been killing myself not to do.
