Olivia
Istand on the front porch in my faded blue house robe as steam curls up from my coffee mug and I take another slow sip, watching the quiet street.
The neighborhood is just waking up—lawn sprinklers ticking on, a dog barking two houses down.
I love these calm moments before the day really starts when the sun is over the horizon but no one is making noise yet.
For mid-April, it's still chilly this time of day, but warmer weather is coming quickly and I can't wait.
Headlights sweep across the lawn as Derek’s black SUV pulls into the driveway and stops. Ethan hops out of the back seat, backpack slung over one shoulder, his blond hair sticking up in every direction. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he darts away from his father.
“Mom!” He runs straight to me, sneakers slapping the porch steps.
I set the mug on the railing and pull him into a hug, breathing in the smell of his hair—campfire smoke and that cheap body wash Derek buys. “Hey, buddy. Did you have fun?”
“So much fun! Dad took me to the go-kart track and I beat him twice.” Ethan’s voice buzzes with excitement.
Derek climbs out of the driver’s side with sunglasses on top of his head even though the sun's barely up. He walks around the SUV carrying Ethan’s duffel bag and a new remote-control truck still in its box.
It brings a scowl to my face I know is there but can't actively hide.
I hate how he showers Ethan with expensive gifts all the time trying to be the "fun" parent.
He knows damn well that on my pay, I can't compete with him.
I keep my arm around Ethan’s shoulders. “Go inside and put your stuff in your room, okay? I’ll make pancakes in a minute.”
Ethan grabs the duffel from his dad and dashes past me into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him. But Derek doesn’t move toward the porch. He stands by the SUV as I step down and meet him halfway in the driveway, arms crossed over my robe.
I've never enjoyed these moments. Sometimes, I wonder what I ever saw in him. But for Ethan's sake we have to get along, at least for these moments where we're forced to interact in front of him.
“You let him ride his bike without knee pads again,” Derek says, quietly so Ethan won’t hear. He yanks his sunglasses off. “He’s got fresh bruises all over both knees. Looks like he crashed hard.”
“He did crash. On the sidewalk right in front of the house. Kids fall, Derek. It happens.”
“It happens because you’re not paying attention. He needs supervision, Olivia. Not just thrown outside with a helmet and a 'good luck'.” His tone sharpens. “I’m not being unreasonable. I’m just suggesting that you could pay more attention."
I feel my shoulders tighten. “You’re being dramatic.
He wore his helmet. He had a blast. And he’s eight, not a toddler.
You can’t bubble-wrap him every second.” He's infuriating.
He's been doing this to me for three years, ever since that judge granted me full custody because of his drinking.
Now he's all sober and cleaned up—or he claims to be—and demands more time with Ethan, and I know better.
I won't let my child be influenced by him any more than I am forced to.
Derek shakes his head with a familiar look of disappointment sliding across his face. “This is exactly why the visitation schedule needs adjusting. You’re too lax. He comes back bruised, tired, and talking about how you let him stay up all night watching movies.”
“He was excited to tell you about his week. That’s all.” I keep my voice even, but heat creeps up my neck. “And the bruises are from a bike crash on concrete. Not from neglect.”
He sets the RC truck on the hood of the SUV. “I got him this. Figured he could use something that doesn’t involve breaking his bones in the driveway.”
I stare at the oversized box. “You’re buying his affection again. He doesn’t need another expensive toy. He needs consistency.”
Derek’s mouth flattens into a hard line and he narrows his eyes. “Consistency would be him spending more nights at my place. We’ll talk about it with the mediator soon.” He glances toward the house, then back at me. “Tell him I’ll pick him up Friday after school.”
He thrusts the truck at me then climbs back in the SUV, starts the engine, and reverses out of the driveway.
I stand there a second, breathing through the irritation, then head inside.
At some point, I had hoped Derek would grow up and back off.
He's lucky he gets to see his son at all.
It's infuriating how he threatens me constantly, and I have the nerve to record these meetings and send them to my lawyer so the judge will see.
When I step into the house, the smell of buttery syrup already drifts from the kitchen. Ethan must've started on breakfast by himself.
“Pancakes sound good?” I call, forcing cheer into my voice as I tie my robe tighter.
“Yes!” Ethan’s at the counter, standing on a stool, already pouring mix into a bowl.
A smear of chocolate from yesterday’s snack stains his shirt.
The dark bruises on his knees make me cringe, but only because Derek insists that somehow, I must've neglected him—that they're proof of it.
I am not a bad mother. I'm a good mom. And I resent the accusations that I'm not.
I wash my hands and take over the stirring. “So, tell me everything. What did you and Dad do besides go-karts?”
Ethan launches into a play-by-play while I heat the griddle and pour pancake batter onto it.
His words tumble out—ice cream for breakfast (I let that one slide), fishing at the pond, building a Lego tower taller than him.
I flip the pancakes, nodding and smiling at the right spots.
The tension from the driveway fades a little with every giggle.
This boy doesn't even know it but he's healing my inner child and the wounds his father created.
Every time I spend five minutes with him, he reminds me how of short life is and how fast time flies.
I don't want to spend a single second being sullen or grumpy about Derek.
If I do, that's letting him win and stealing life I could live to its fullest. He's already taken too much from me. Not anymore.
“Dad said I could keep the truck at his house so it doesn’t get lost here,” Ethan adds, licking syrup off his fork. "But I promised I'd take care of it." He eyes the new toy on the stand by the front door and I hide my frustration. Ethan is excited about it and I should be too.
I set a plate in front of him. “We’ll see. Eat up before it gets cold.”
He dives in, cheeks puffed out, as I lean against the counter with my second cup of coffee, watching him.
Nothing else in the whole world matters to me as much as Ethan.
They could strip everything from me, but as long as they let me keep him, I know I'd be fine.
The very idea that Derek thinks he could do a better job than me is repugnant to me.
A low rumble rolls down the street, and I glance out the window as a big white moving truck slows in front of the empty house next door, the one that’s been for sale for months. It backs into the driveway, followed by a black pickup with North Carolina plates.
“New neighbors?” I murmur, mostly to myself, but Ethan hears me.
He looks up, speaking with his mouth full. “Can I go say hi later?”
“We’ll see if they have kids your age.” I watch as the truck’s rear door rolls up.
A tall man jumps down from the pickup cab.
Even from here I can tell he’s built—broad shoulders under a gray T-shirt, short, dark hair, and my God, is he good-looking.
He rolls his sleeves up and starts guiding the movers with the ramp.
My eyes stay locked on him as I sip from my mug, and I'm not even shy. He can't see me anyway. I may as well enjoy the eye candy. I don’t see a woman floating around, not that I'm in the market to start something. I'm sure Derek would find a billion ways to use that against me too.
The man turns toward our house for a second while talking to one of the guys, and I get a clear look.
Strong jaw, serious expression, maybe a little tired around the eyes.
Handsome in that quiet, no-nonsense way.
My stomach does a small, unwelcome flip.
He's rugged, and based on the size of those biceps under the shirt, I'd say he's very fit too.
I turn back to the sink, rinsing Ethan’s empty glass as he sets it down on the counter.
It's not happening. I don’t have time or room for that kind of distraction.
Ethan’s the only man in my life right now.
I’m not about to complicate things with some stranger next door just because he's good-looking.
Derek was the most handsome man I'd ever met back in the day.
“Mom, can I have more syrup?”
I grab the bottle and set it beside his plate. “Not too much. You’ll be sticky all day.”
I try not to look back out the window, but when I do, I catch the handsome man lifting heavy furniture. It's attractive, but I pull my attention back to my son. “Tell me about the fishing. Did you catch anything big?”
Ethan starts waving his hands, describing the fish that got away. I listen as I pour myself more coffee, but the man next door is just too damn distracting. I might actually be sweating a little. God, what's come over me?
“—and then Dad said next time, we’d go camping for real,” Ethan finishes, scraping the last of the syrup.
“Sounds fun. Finish your milk," I mumble, only half paying attention.
I'm in trouble. If this guy next door is charming in any small way, I'm going to have a real problem not gawking at him, especially when he does yardwork. If he's anything like half the men in this neighborhood, he'll do it shirtless and I'll drool.
"Mom, I finished my milk. You already rinsed my glass." Ethan cackles at me and sets his plate in the sink then headbutts my hip. "Can I say hi to the new neighbor?"
That comment pulls my attention and I shake my head.
"No, sir. Go have a shower." I reluctantly turn, pulling myself from the view.
"You are sticky and dirty, and we have a big day.
" I shoo him with both hands, almost sloshing my coffee, and he rushes off toward the stairs, but I've already broken my cardinal rule—don't let anything distract me from my son.
Mr. Good Looking will have to stay on his side of the fence, and I'm going to have to learn self-control. Or this summer will be bumpier than just dealing with Derek.