The Ghost in My House Was Me - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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I let out a bitter laugh. "Beg you? Like I somehow created Tommy all by myself? Last I checked, you're his father too."
"Since when is raising our child only my job? Where's your responsibility in all this?"
"Do you even realize how messed up our son is because of this?"
Kevin's face darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. Without another word, he snatches his coat and storms out, slamming the door behind him like I'm some hysterical nightmare.
The notebook—Tommy's little manifesto about wishing I'd disappear—still sits on the couch. Typical. Kevin didn't even bother turning off the study light.
This is his pattern. Every damn time. He either drops some careless remark to set me off, then just watches me unravel—or worse, he bails. Door slam included.
The noise wakes Tommy. He pads out barefoot, lingering in the doorway, staring at where his father just vanished. Then he shuffles over, picks up the notebook I'd thrown aside.
No guilt. No worry that I might've seen his twisted little confession. Just a frown and an accusation:
"Mom, why'd you make Dad leave again?"
I don't answer. Outside, an engine roars to life. A black sedan peels away down the street.
Tommy's notebook is clenched tight in his small hand.
And those eyes—just like his father's.
It hits me then, like a punch to the gut: I've been trapped this whole time.
I drag myself to the bedroom and collapse onto the bed.
The moment I shut my eyes, the words "Mom disappear" flash behind my eyelids, bold and accusing.
I've never lost it in front of Tommy. Never.
I've swallowed my pride, bent over backward to keep the peace, begged Kevin to come home, to just hug his own child.
Sleep won't come.
My phone glows on the nightstand—Sarah, my neighbor.
"Heard your husband storm out. Another fight? You okay?"
Sarah's the one friend I made back when I was scraping by, selling crafts online after Kevin froze me out and cut me off financially.
We realized we lived in the same building. She even bought a few things—not because she needed them, just to help.
Tommy's door clicks shut down the hall. I type back:
"Thanks. I'm fine."
Morning comes, and my body feels like lead. My eyes are puffy, raw.
Kevin's back, reeking of booze, the gardenia cologne drowned out.
His gaze flicks over me—just for a second—before he looks away, scowling as he heads to the bathroom.
"Jesus, look at you. Who are you trying to scare with that face?"
He's waiting for it. The explosion, the tears, the scene he can walk away from.
But I'm too tired. I stay silent.
For a split second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise? Confusion?
Then he's all warmth as he ducks into Tommy's room.
"Come on, buddy. Daddy's taking you to school today."
Two different men in the same skin.
Father and son, hand in hand, laughing like I don't exist.
Not a single glance back. Not one word.
It cuts deeper than any knife.
"Since when is raising our child only my job? Where's your responsibility in all this?"
"Do you even realize how messed up our son is because of this?"
Kevin's face darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. Without another word, he snatches his coat and storms out, slamming the door behind him like I'm some hysterical nightmare.
The notebook—Tommy's little manifesto about wishing I'd disappear—still sits on the couch. Typical. Kevin didn't even bother turning off the study light.
This is his pattern. Every damn time. He either drops some careless remark to set me off, then just watches me unravel—or worse, he bails. Door slam included.
The noise wakes Tommy. He pads out barefoot, lingering in the doorway, staring at where his father just vanished. Then he shuffles over, picks up the notebook I'd thrown aside.
No guilt. No worry that I might've seen his twisted little confession. Just a frown and an accusation:
"Mom, why'd you make Dad leave again?"
I don't answer. Outside, an engine roars to life. A black sedan peels away down the street.
Tommy's notebook is clenched tight in his small hand.
And those eyes—just like his father's.
It hits me then, like a punch to the gut: I've been trapped this whole time.
I drag myself to the bedroom and collapse onto the bed.
The moment I shut my eyes, the words "Mom disappear" flash behind my eyelids, bold and accusing.
I've never lost it in front of Tommy. Never.
I've swallowed my pride, bent over backward to keep the peace, begged Kevin to come home, to just hug his own child.
Sleep won't come.
My phone glows on the nightstand—Sarah, my neighbor.
"Heard your husband storm out. Another fight? You okay?"
Sarah's the one friend I made back when I was scraping by, selling crafts online after Kevin froze me out and cut me off financially.
We realized we lived in the same building. She even bought a few things—not because she needed them, just to help.
Tommy's door clicks shut down the hall. I type back:
"Thanks. I'm fine."
Morning comes, and my body feels like lead. My eyes are puffy, raw.
Kevin's back, reeking of booze, the gardenia cologne drowned out.
His gaze flicks over me—just for a second—before he looks away, scowling as he heads to the bathroom.
"Jesus, look at you. Who are you trying to scare with that face?"
He's waiting for it. The explosion, the tears, the scene he can walk away from.
But I'm too tired. I stay silent.
For a split second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise? Confusion?
Then he's all warmth as he ducks into Tommy's room.
"Come on, buddy. Daddy's taking you to school today."
Two different men in the same skin.
Father and son, hand in hand, laughing like I don't exist.
Not a single glance back. Not one word.
It cuts deeper than any knife.
End of The Ghost in My House Was Me Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Ghost in My House Was Me book page.