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Amid the silence that followed, my phone vibrated, indicating an incoming call. I glanced at the screen, my heart racing. "Hunter Calling" flashed across the display, tempting me to answer. My family's hopeful eyes locked onto me, awaiting my decision.
Mom leaned closer, her voice soft but persistent. "Becca, it might be worth talking to him. You never know what he has to say," she suggested, a tinge of hope in her words.
My conflicted emotions intensified. I wrestled with my desire to hear Hunter's voice, to feel the connection we once had, and my determination to carry the weight of motherhood alone.
My father, sensing my inner turmoil, stretched a hand across the table and placed it over mine. "Sweetheart, sometimes forgiveness and understanding can lead to healing," he said.
I took a deep breath, my resolve faltering for a moment. My eyes darted from my family's supportive faces to the unanswered call on my phone. As much as I longed for closure and reconciliation, a wave of sadness washed over me, reminding me of the hurt, of the anger, and the pain I had endured. Of Hunter rejecting me when I wanted him most. I didn't want to go through that again.
With a mixture of determination and sadness, I shook my head, a tear escaping my eye. "I can't, not now," I replied. "I need to focus on the life growing inside me."
Mom and dad exchanged understanding glances; their disappointment masked by unconditional love. Then dad nodded and went back to his meal.
And because I had travelled back home for a few days of rest, mom made sure I rested. By evening, I had slept twice and had a fruit salad she made from berries in her small berry patch.
I lay on my bed, bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The room was adorned with pictures and mementos that served as reminders of happier times. My gaze fixated on a framed photograph on the nightstand, capturing a moment of joy and laughter with my brothers, and my heart filled with bittersweet longing. Longing for a time when I didn't have cares or problems.
My phone was beside me, its screen occasionally lighting up with notifications. A mixture of missed calls and unread messages from Hunter populated the screen, evidence of his persistent attempts to reach out. Despite my determination to keep my distance, the ache in my heart intensified, and yearned for his presence.
I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, contemplating whether to respond to Hunter's call. Dad's voice echoed in my mind, urging me to consider forgiveness and understanding, to allow myself a chance at healing.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I battled the conflicting desires within me. The longing for the affection I once shared with Hunter, the yearning for the familiar comfort of our connection, clashed against the fear of reopening old wounds and the uncertainty of our future together.
In a moment of vulnerability, I closed my eyes, my heart silently calling out to Hunter and Mark. I imagined their voices, their laughter, and the warmth of their embrace. The void they left in my life became painfully evident, and I realized that even in my determination to be a strong, independent mother, a part of me still craved their presence.
Reluctantly, I set the phone aside, unable to bring herself to answer Hunter's calls. The room fell into a heavy silence, the sound of my rapid heartbeat thundering in my ears. Maybe I had deceived myself. Like I always had, when it came to Hunter, believing in something that never existed.
The Reckoning
Hunter's POV
"Dad catch" Mark screamed, his voice cutting through the silence. We were both on the beach, throwing a ball back and forth between them.
I jumped, tried to catch the ball, and felt it sail across my head. I had just missed the ball again.
"Dadddddd,” Mark shouted again and stomped away from me towards the ball, which had ended up almost at the water.
Well now, he was mad. And it was totally my fault. I hadn't woken up right this morning. Becca had been gone for four days now and I was realizing just how quiet it got without her. And she still wasn't taking my calls.
Mark stomped back to me with the ball clasped in his hands. He threw it at me, and I caught it this time. Ran a distance and threw it back at him.
He smiled and caught it, ran and threw it back to me. I returned it, keeping my mind in the activity, in the simple pleasure of spending a free morning with my son. It was the weekend already and Mark was spending the day home with me. Steve would be coming by this morning to spend the day with us. He had called to speak to Mark because he certainly hadn't spoken to me.
I felt like I had been blacklisted by everyone except Mark. And I wouldn't be surprised if he blacklisted me soon.
I caught the ball again and threw it back to Mark. It fell a few feet away and Mark smiled and ran towards it. While he was distracted, I ran my hands through my hair and released a deep sigh.
"Even an old man with bad knee throws a ball better than you."
Steve had arrived finally. He was dressed in a jogger suit with a hoodie. Mark ran over to him, his voice loud.
"Uncle Steveeeee,” He shouted, running over to Steve and hugging his knees. Steve lifted him and twirled him, his laughter ringing out, light and carefree. I hoped it stayed that way forever. Steve dropped him and pointed at the ball. Mark ran back to it.
"What's wrong?" He asked quietly.
"Why wouldn't you pick my call?" I asked him. He had bluntly refused to pick my call in the last few days and now he was here, smiling like none of it had happened.
"Because Becca doesn't want to speak to you and you'll only wear me down,” He replied. His voice held an apology I did not acknowledge.
