My boyfriend lived with me and my son for 3 years. Last week he grounded my son for lying. I snapped, “You’re not his father.” He looked at me like I’d slapped him. Then he said, “After everything I’ve sacrificed? We are done.”
And he left.
I was still furious, so I let him go. My son acted tough too. Said, “Good.” But after a few days, the apartment felt wrong without him. Too quiet. No stupid humming while cooking. No notes on the fridge. No shoes by the door.
Then a few days later, my blood ran cold when I found my son sitting on the kitchen floor crying.
In front of him was this old notebook Mark used to keep.
I asked what happened, but my son just kept shaking his head. Finally he handed it to me.
Every page was full of stuff Mark had written over the years.
School pickup schedules. Doctor appointments. Grocery lists with my son’s favorite snacks circled. Notes like “Ask about math test” and “He looked sad today. Check on him tonight.”
And tucked between the pages was something else.
An unfinished adoption application.
Mark had filled out everything already.
Except the part where I was supposed to sign.