Chapter 27 - The End
Eleven months after the glass table shattered, Esmond came home from school carrying a paper baseball.
Not a real one.
A construction-paper baseball covered in classmates’ signatures.
His kindergarten class had finished a unit on teamwork.
He dropped his backpack beside the new oak coffee table.
Then froze.
The table.
Not glass.
Still.
I watched him.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
Then knocked twice on the wood.
Solid.
He did that less often now.
Not never.
Less.
The emergency phone sat charging on a small shelf near the kitchen.
Still active.
Still only one saved contact.
Mine.
We had talked about adding Aunt Elaine.
Esmond said:
“No.”
I did not force it.
911 remained available whether saved or not.
One trusted number was enough for now.
Then he pulled a permission slip from his bag.
“Baseball day.”
My stomach tightened before my face could hide it.
Esmond noticed.
“It’s soft bats.”
“Foam?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He studied me.
“You scared?”
“A little.”
“Me too.”
Good.
No pretending.
Then:
“Can Uncle Ulric come?”
That surprised me.
Ulric had progressed to supervised park visits twice a month.
No problems.
He never brought up guardianship.
Never touched Esmond without asking.
Never raised his voice.
Dr. Lena had not approved unsupervised contact yet.
School event could be possible with me present.
“I’ll ask Dr. Lena and the school.”
Esmond nodded.
No promise.
Then he climbed onto the couch.
“Daddy liked baseball.”
“I know.”
“Uncle Ulric too.”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“No.”
He looked offended.
“What do you like?”
“Quiet sports.”
“That’s not sport.”
Fair.
Later that evening, I opened the guardian portal.
Annual report due.
School:
Stable.
Medical:
Routine.
Therapy:
Ongoing, reduced frequency.
Trust distributions:
Documented.
House:
Occupancy review renewed another year.
No major issue.
I signed.
Guardian.
Not father.
I had stopped feeling the need to mentally add that correction every time.
The distinction was settled inside me.
Tavian was Esmond’s father.
I was the person Tavian chose to stand after him.
Different.
Enough.
Then my phone rang.
The emergency phone.
I looked toward the hallway.
Esmond was in his room.
I answered.
“What happened?”
A whisper:
“Nothing.”
I smiled.
“Testing?”
“Yes.”
“Still works.”
He hung up.
Thirty seconds later he appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Uncle Rhy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I delete number?”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“I know it.”
I stared at him.
For almost a year, that phone had been a rope between terror and safety.
Tavian’s instruction.
One number.
One plan.
Now Esmond knew the number without the phone.
I said:
“You can if you want.”
He picked up the device.
Opened contacts.
Looked at my name.
Then changed his mind.
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
No ceremony.
He put it back on the charger.
Then:
“Snack?”
“Apple.”
“Cookies.”
“Apple first.”
He groaned.
Normal.
In the living room, the oak table held crayons, a library book and the paper baseball.
No broken glass.
No bat.
No court files.
Esmond sat on the carpet beside it and began coloring one of the baseball’s blank spaces.
I watched from the kitchen.
“What are you drawing?”
He held it up.
Three stick figures.
One small.
Two tall.
I recognized him.
Me.
Tavian, probably.
Then he pointed.
“That’s Daddy.”
“Okay.”
“That’s you.”
“Okay.”
I waited.
No Ulric.
Then Esmond added another figure at the edge.
“Uncle Ulric.”
I said nothing.
He drew the figure smaller than mine.
Then erased the body and redrew it the same height.
“Why?”
“People same size.”
Not remotely true anatomically.
I understood what he meant anyway.
Then he placed the paper baseball on the wooden table.
It stayed there.
May you like
Nothing broke.
The End
