Leo
985 Words
The door slammed shut behind her.
Erica didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture. Her hand just missed shaking, numb, disconnected.
The echo reverberated through her apartment like a gunshot.
She stood in the entryway for a full sixty seconds, coat still on, heels still tight, keys dangling from her fingers. Her mouth was dry. Her heart a runaway engine. Her brain, an open cage of birds, flapping and screaming and useless.
Michael.
The name banged against her skull like a sledgehammer.
He was real. Again. Breathing. Watching. Speaking her name in that same low, possessive tone that had once made her melt.
Three years.
Three years of compartmentalizing. Building walls. Filing that night away into a sealed vault labeled “DO NOT OPEN.” And now the lid had blown off and everything was on fire.
“Mommy?”
The voice was small, sleepy.
Erica spun around, eyes widening.
Leo stood at the hallway’s edge, tiny fists rubbing at his eyes. Blue dinosaur pajamas. Wild dark curls. Storm-gray eyes.
Just like his.
Her throat closed.
“Hey, baby.” She dropped to her knees too fast, wobbling. “What are you doing up?”
“You weren’t home,” he mumbled, crawling into her arms like he’d done since he was old enough to walk. “The babysitter gave me mac and cheese but it was the box kind.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. She hugged him tighter than she meant to. “I’m here now.”
She pressed her face into his hair, breathing him in. Baby shampoo. Crayons. Everything good in the world.
Everything she couldn’t lose.
He pulled back a little, peering at her. “Why are you sad?”
“I’m not,” she lied automatically.
But her eyes were already wet. And Leo knew what tears looked like.
“You had a bad day?”
“Yes.”
“Did somebody at work yell at you?”
She paused. Her lips twitched. “Something like that.”
He nodded, solemn. “You should’ve called the Hulk.”
Erica laughed, one choked breath. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
She swallowed hard. “I love you more.”
He clung to her for a few seconds longer before yawning and letting go.
“You’re okay now,” he said matter-of-fact, and padded back to bed like his words made it so.
She waited until his door clicked shut.
Then she unraveled.
Not a scream. Not a sob. A crack.
She stripped off her coat and heels like they were burning her. Stumbled into the kitchen. Opened the cabinet. Shut it. Opened it again.
Wine.
She poured the glass full to the brim. Didn’t even taste it. Just drank.
The first sip hit her stomach like fire. The second like a match.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
He was right there.
Across the table. Breathing the same air. And she hadn’t said a damn word. Hadn’t told him. Hadn’t screamed at him. Hadn’t slapped him across the face or broken down or told him what he left behind.
Her son.
His son.
She stared at the wine.
Finished it.
Poured more.
Michael Vladmir had held her gaze with all the calm of a man in control and all she’d wanted to do was shatter it. To tell him what he’d done. What she had to do alone. All the nights she walked the floor, pacing with a feverish baby. All the mornings she sat in daycare parking lots crying because she couldn’t afford both rent and shoes.
And he sat there in his $6,000 suit acting like he missed her.
Her.
Not the baby. Not the boy. Not the bloodline growing up without a name.
But her.
Erica wiped angrily at her cheek.
She grabbed the half-full wineglass and moved to the couch. Sat in the dark.
Everything felt too loud. Her blood. The refrigerator hum. Her own thoughts clawing at the walls of her skull.
What happens when he finds out?
She’d kept it secret for this long. Refused to put Leo’s name in any public daycare photos. Paid extra to keep him off all online rosters. Changed her last name back to Caldwell just to widen the gap.
But Michael Vladmir didn’t live in the world of Google.
He had men.
And now that he’d seen her again…
Will he come looking?
Her pulse surged.
She imagined Leo in his arms. Not screaming. Not afraid. Just… curious. And that terrified her. Because Leo wouldn’t be scared. He’d stare up at the man with his same eyes and connect the dots.
And then what?
Then Michael would know.
And once he knew, he would never let go.
Erica gripped the glass tighter. Her breathing was shallow now. Shaky. She stood up too fast, nearly knocking over a lamp. She moved to the bedroom and yanked open the top drawer of her nightstand.
Photos. Ultrasound printouts. A hospital wristband. A lock of hair from Leo’s first haircut.
All of it in a beat-up manila envelope she hadn’t opened in over a year.
She looked at it.
Then shoved it deep in the drawer again.
Slammed it shut.
No.
No one would take her son from her.
Not even the devil she once let inside her body.
Especially not him.
She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against the wall.
Tried to steady her breath.
Tried to forget the sound of his voice.
Tried to forget the ache in her chest when he said he never forgot her.
Because forgetting was the one thing she’d had to learn.
And remembering? That was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Not when everything she loved lived behind locked doors.
She had to make sure her baby stayed hidden.
Her gift from that fateful night.
- Writer
