Chapter 2
Frankie
“Hello, Ms. Sullivan. This is Officer Reynolds from the Metro Police Department.” My mind immediately went to a dark place, and I feared something horrible had happened to my oldest child when I heard him say, “I’m calling about your son, Corry Sullivan.”
“Oh God, what happened? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”
“No, ma’am. He’s fine. He’s actually sitting in the back of my squad car. He’s a little freaked out, but he’s okay.”
“Okay, then what’s going on?”
“Corry and a couple of his buddies were just taken into custody for trying to purchase marijuana pods from an undercover officer at the Davenport Park.”
“A marijuana pod?”
“They are just like nicotine vaping devices only these contain dabs or pods that contain THC oil.”
I couldn’t believe it. Corry was my precious child—my first born.
From the moment I’d become pregnant with him, I’d felt like he was a part of me—like I knew him even before he was born.
I’d felt so in tune with him, almost like he was part of my very soul.
I was supposed to know when something was wrong, and it broke my heart to know that he’d get himself involved in such a terrible thing without me even knowing it.
I should’ve known something was wrong. Since the divorce, my once bright, smiling, straight A, neat-freak son had turned into a completely different child.
His grades had dropped, he barely came out of his room, which was hard to fathom because of the enormous mess of trash and dirty clothes, and he rarely smiled anymore.
Hearing the officer say Corry had tried to buy marijuana made me wonder if drugs were the root of the change.
I was still trying to make sense of it all as I told him, “I’ve never seen him with any pods or any kind of vape. ”
“I’m not surprised. That’s one of the very reasons why they’ve become so popular for kids Corry’s age. They are easily hidden from their parents.”
“I just can’t believe Corry would ever use something like that. He’s a good kid. He doesn’t get in this kind of trouble.”
“Well, he hasn’t gotten into trouble up until now. Now, he’s in a mess of it,” the officer countered with little emotion. “These boys knew what they were purchasing was illegal. They knew the chances they were taking, but that didn’t stop them from trying to buy them.”
“I’m so sorry.” I tried to steady my breathing as I told him, “I’m in complete shock right now. I don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t take this too hard. Corry seems like a good kid and clearly he has a good support system at home.
That’s why I called you instead of booking him.
” Relief washed over me when he continued, “I won’t press charges if you can assure me that you and his father will handle this thing with him. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. We will handle it. Not only will he be grounded until the end of time, but I’m also going to find him a counselor...a really good one.”
“I’d suggest Dr. Archer. I’ve known several families who’ve had a great deal of success with him. He seems to be great in situations like these. Just let him know I sent you, and hopefully, he can get you in pretty quickly.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you. I’ll definitely do that.”
“Good deal. You can come pick him up at the station on Third.”
“Thank you so much! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hadn’t even hung up the phone when I grabbed my keys and raced for the door. As I drove over to the station, I took a moment to reflect on my life and the choices I’d made. I’ll admit I had my doubts about whether or not leaving my ex-husband was the right thing to do.
Anyone who thinks life gets better, easier, after divorce is wrong—bad wrong.
Divorce isn’t some grand escape from an unwanted life.
It isn’t a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Divorce is hard.
It’s a monster that lurks in the shadows and pounces when you least expect it.
It will pull at you. It will break your heart and make you doubt yourself at every turn.
And just when you think it can’t get any worse—when you have nothing left to give, it will come back for more.
Divorce doesn’t care if you’ve done everything right.
It doesn’t care if you were a dedicated, faithful spouse and doting parent.
It also doesn’t care that you’re the one who screwed everything up and caused the demise of the marriage.
The details don’t matter. No one is spared from the hurt. No one.
I learned this the hard way. After years of being mentally and physically abused by my husband, I finally packed up my two sons and left.
I thought it was the only way I could save my boys from a lifetime of heartache and abuse.
I thought by leaving I was protecting them, giving them a chance at a normal life, but I quickly learned that I hadn’t saved them at all.
Their narcissistic, abusive father didn’t magically disappear.
He didn’t step away and allow us to have a life without him in it.
Oh no. There was no way in hell he’d give us up like that.
Not because he loved and adored us. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Marc was a prideful man who saw us as his possessions.
Even though he hadn’t taken care of his possessions, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of letting us go.
In fact, he was determined to keep his hold on us tight—especially where the boys were concerned.
We spent months in and out of court—each of us sharing our reasons for the demise of our marriage.
I’d hoped the judge would see that his abusive nature was detrimental to the boy’s wellbeing, but no such luck.
This particular judge believed that no matter how awful their father was, the boys needed him in their lives.
After it was all said and done, he ordered Marc to attend anger management classes for six months, thinking that was all he needed to become a positive role model in their lives. He was wrong. Oh boy, was his wrong.
Even after months and months of counseling, Marc was still the same short-tempered asshole he’d always been—if not more so.
The anger management classes seemed to make that chip on his shoulder even bigger, and just like before, the man never thought he was wrong about anything.
Whenever things didn’t go his way, he jumped at the chance to blame me.
He was really something. No matter how big or small, if something went wrong he’d find a way to make it my fault.
The same held true when I called to let him know about what had happened with Corry.
Even though I dreaded even talking to him, I didn’t have a choice.
I had to let him know. As soon as we returned from the police station, I sent Corry to his room, and I went out to the garage.
After I dialed his number, I took out a cigarette from my secret stash and quickly lit it, taking a few quick puffs as I waited for him to answer.
I rarely smoked, only when I was super stressed, and I was always sure to keep it hidden from the kids.
It was my one true vice, and why I’d chosen to make my call to Marc in the garage.
As soon as he answered, I said, “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you about Corry.”
“Okay...What about him?”
“Well, um...he got into some trouble this afternoon.” I took a quick puff from my cigarette and tried to brace myself for his reaction when I said, “He and his friends were caught trying to buy a THC vape pod from an undercover policeman.”
“THC? You mean marijuana?” His voice was growing louder by the second. “My son was trying to buy fucking marijuana? How the fuck did that happen?”
“I’m not really sure. I just know Corry was with a few of his friends down at the park, and they tried to buy it from an undercover officer. The officer called me a little while ago to let me know what had happened.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of hours ago?”
“It’s after dark.” I could hear the anger in his voice building as he fussed, “What the hell was he doing out at this hour?”
“It wasn’t dark at the time, Marc. We hadn’t even had dinner yet, so I didn’t see the harm in them going to play basketball for an hour or two.
” It was well before sundown, but that didn’t matter.
I knew he would twist everything around to be my fault.
Normally, it wouldn’t bother me. I would let it roll off my back, but this was different.
This was something Marc could use to get full custody of the boys.
I tried my best to choose my words wisely as I told him, “The park is just around the corner, and I always call to check in on him.”
“Instead of calling to check on him, you should’ve gotten your ass over there and made sure he was doing what he was supposed to.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have been out there buying fucking dope!
” Marc roared. “For Christ’s sake, Frankie.
Do you even watch the boys, or do you just let them run wild and do whatever the hell they want? ”