Greg thought he and Natalie had nailed co-parenting—until a late-night phone call shattered that belief, bringing news he never saw coming.
Five years. That’s how long we were together before we finally called it quits. I think we both saw it coming, even though we never said it out loud. We met young—too young, maybe.
By the time the excitement faded and real life set in, we just stopped trying. No drama, no big fights—just the slow realization that we weren’t meant for forever.
Now, we live in different states, leading different lives. The only thing that connects us is Oliver, our three-year-old son. That boy is my entire world. I get to see him during the holidays, which is something, but it’s never enough. It never feels like enough.
But I didn’t want things to turn ugly. We both agreed—Oliver didn’t deserve a bitter custody battle or parents who couldn’t stand each other. So, we kept things civil. Natalie and I made it work, and every evening she’d video call me so I could say goodnight to Oliver. That simple ritual meant everything to me—hearing him say “Night, Daddy” before bed made the distance feel a little less painful.
Everything was going fine until I got the call.
“Greg!” Natalie’s voice came through, but it wasn’t her usual calm tone. She was crying—no, screaming. “Greg, our son is gone!”
I froze. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oliver is dead!” she screamed, and the words hit me like a knife to the chest.
I couldn’t process it. “What? How?”
Through her sobs, her words were barely clear. “He’s just gone… Oh my God, Greg…”
I collapsed to the floor, her words crushing me. This couldn’t be real. Not Oliver. Not my boy.
“I’m coming,” I said, scrambling to my feet, my voice trembling.
Leave a Reply