Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Antonia
The late winter sunshine is hanging around. It’s nice. It’s a joy to just walk out of the front door and not think about taking an umbrella.
I pack the storybook into my bag, along with a flask of hot chocolate, and pick up my deck chair before trundling down the stairs.
My car sits waiting. Ben didn’t stay last night. He didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask. He doesn’t stay every night, and I don’t ask him to. We’re at that point in the relationship where things are new but turning quite serious. He needs time at his place, and I need time alone at mine.
Work was quiet this morning, quieter than it normally is anyway, so I took the afternoon off.
When I called Clara, she fell silent for a moment but didn’t ask.
I’m taking more time for myself these days.
More emails go unanswered. More calls get ignored.
If the message isn’t important, I don’t go back to it.
I suppose you could say I’m taking time for myself.
This scare—this potential diagnosis, whatever it is—has made me realize that even though I knew time was precious before, it’s even more precious now.
So I’m going to spend my afternoon with my son.
Is it the way I hoped to? Of course not.
When I lost him all those years ago, I just wanted to run. At one point, I even wished he hadn’t existed, so I didn’t experience the pain of loss.
But my son is frozen in time. He’s still three years old.
And I treat him as such.
So today I’ll go to his graveside. I’ll sit in my deck chair and sip my hot chocolate. Then read a story the way I wish we’d been able to in his bedroom.
The roads are quiet for a Monday afternoon. I weave through the streets, get to the cemetery, park, grab my belongings, and wander to Mikey’s grave. It’s still clean and tidy from the last time I visited.
I’ve been visiting more in recent weeks. Maybe once a week, when I used to go a few months without coming. It was always hard walking up knowing he was lying there, but I’ve even come to enjoy it now.
It’s strange.
I sit in my deck chair, pour my hot chocolate, and open the storybook, the pages read more times than I can count. He absolutely loved it in life. And I’ve exhausted it in death.
As I’m reading the last page, I look up and notice someone standing, flowers in hand, wiping dirt off a stone. It’s not until he moves into profile that I recognize him.
Ben.
I didn’t expect to see him here today.
There are already multiple bouquets sitting at the base of the headstone he’s in front of. He rearranges the bouquets slightly and slides his own lilies in among them before taking a seat in a chair, not unlike mine.
I freeze, unsure what to do.
He hasn’t seen me. Or if he has, he chooses not to react.
Bex. He’s visiting Bex.
My heart aches. Not with jealousy, with something sharper. Recognition. He’s lived what’s happening with us before.
His lips move, as if chatting to someone who’s there and not a ghost. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can imagine. I have my own conversations with the dead all the time. It’s healing in a way.
Perhaps I should just slip away quietly.
But things are different now.
We’re living our own challenges together. Perhaps he needs me.
I slowly wander over, and he glances over his shoulder as I’m halfway across, his expression lost for a second.
“Antonia,” he says, taking my hand. “Are you here visiting Mikey?”
“Yes,” I say. “And you… Bex?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s…” His words trail off, silence falling between us.
“I’ll leave you alone,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’m intruding.
“No, please. Come sit.”
He spots my chair, walks back to Mikey’s grave, then carries it over beside him.
“We can sit together,” he says. “Bex won’t mind. She always told me I should move on after she’s gone. And I know she’d love you.”
I hesitate. This is him inviting me into his life in a way I never imagined.
“Come,” he says softly. “I’d love to introduce you to her.”
So we stand together, and he pours me a cup of coffee into the lid of his flask.
I laugh. “We’re more alike than you realize.”
“I suppose so,” he says. “We’ve both been dealing with a lot of the same.”
We stand quietly for a moment, both looking at the headstone.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve not told you much about Bex.”
“No. And I suppose I haven’t told you much about Mikey.”
“It’s strange how sometimes it’s easier to pack those things away.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Memories that bring comfort. But also pain.”
“I’d love to know more about her,” I tell him. He looks at me, unsure, then takes another gulp as if buying himself time. “Please… tell me about her.”
There’s still a hesitation. His jaw opens and closes as if trying to speak but failing. Eventually, he takes a breath.
“We were friends in school,” he says. “Nothing really happened between us then. But in our early twenties, we got together for a few months. It was amazing. You know that early love?”
I nod. “I do.”
“Yeah, it didn’t last,” he continues. “I made the wrong choice. Many of them.” He glances at the headstone, then the flowers at the base. “Then, years later, I saw Bex outside the school gates, with a little boy who looked just like me… I don’t know how I didn’t have a heart attack.”
I laugh out loud. “That can’t be true.”
“It is. Trust me.” He shakes his head. “I’m not proud of the man I was back then. Not in my twenties, thirties, or even my early forties. Though I like to think I put some of it right.”
He’s sharing this with me here, in one of the most private places he has. The doctor. The father. Each layer is stripped away, showing me the broken man underneath. The one with flaws.
“I think everyone deserves a second chance,” I say quietly.
“I wasn’t the best mother.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“I was always busy. Always working. Before Opengate, when I worked for someone else. I was back at work within weeks of Mikey’s birth.
I couldn’t imagine being a full-time mum. Didn’t want to be.”
Back then, all I’d worried about was career development. A bigger car. A nicer house.
“Looking back now… I wish I’d taken a few more months. A few more days. Because I missed so much. And then we lost him…” The words cut off, and Ben squeezes my hand.
“I know,” he says softly. “There are always regrets. But we can’t let them carve out our future. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been there. At some point, you have to decide to move past them.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, him holding my hands, me clinging to his.
He’s right. I’ve lived my life full of regrets.
Sure, I’ve been successful in the boardroom, with Opengate, but all of that is because of Mikey’s death.
“There’s still no word from the hospital,” I tell him. “No results yet.”
“There’s been a sickness going around the department,” he says. “Lots of delays.”
“How do you know?”
“Inside information.”
I should be annoyed, but it shows he cares.
“Look,” he says after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? You shouldn’t be on your own while you’re dealing with this.”
That catches me off guard. “Who’ll be there?”
“My kids. My sister-in-law and her partner. Just family.” He hesitates. “Please come. I don’t want to leave you on your own.”
His words sit between us. I’m going to have to meet his kids at some point. Why not tonight?
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go home and freshen up first.”
“I’ll drive you,” he suggests immediately. “You get ready, then we’ll go to my house together.”
I smile. Of course.
There he is again.
Ben.
Taking care of every situation.