The Ghost in My House Was Me - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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Kevin keeps his eyes on the road as he asks the question, his tone almost tender. But he doesn't actually wait for my reply.
"I remember you and Tommy were dying to try that hotpot place," he says, like it's some fond memory. "I was tied up back then. Let's make up for it now."
Months ago.
Mother's Day. Tommy had come home early from school, all excited. We'd made plans—Kevin was supposed to drive us to that new hotpot spot down the street. I even reminded him that morning as he headed out the door. Don't forget.
From the second Tommy got home that evening, I sat at the vanity, carefully doing my makeup, imagining the three of us laughing over a meal together.
I waited. And waited.
Daylight faded. No call. No text. No Kevin.
Eventually, I took Tommy myself. And when we got back, there he was—pressed up against her in his car, right outside our building.
I covered Tommy's eyes, told him to go inside. Then I stormed over and pounded on the window.
That was the last time I let myself explode.
The silent treatment began.
"Kevin, stop," I say now, my voice flat. "I'm not some naive girl playing games. I didn't bring up divorce to get a reaction out of you. I've thought this through."
Ever since that night.
"I read the agreement," he says, like it's absurd. "Half the savings—that's it? Haley, be serious."
"Tommy still needs to eat. This isn't just about us. Grow up."
"Haley," he counters, smug, "you won't have anyone spoiling you once you walk out that door."
He's never this chatty. He thinks this is my way of thawing the ice.
Then he glances at Tommy. Our son shuffles over, those big, pleading eyes looking up at me.
"Mom," he whispers, all tiny and hopeful, "I really want hotpot."
My whole body locks up. Mom disappear flashes in my mind like a warning every time I look at him.
"Do whatever," I mutter. "Let's just get this over with."
Kevin smirks.
Tommy lights up. "Yes!"
Their happiness feels like a world I'm no longer part of.
"I remember you and Tommy were dying to try that hotpot place," he says, like it's some fond memory. "I was tied up back then. Let's make up for it now."
Months ago.
Mother's Day. Tommy had come home early from school, all excited. We'd made plans—Kevin was supposed to drive us to that new hotpot spot down the street. I even reminded him that morning as he headed out the door. Don't forget.
From the second Tommy got home that evening, I sat at the vanity, carefully doing my makeup, imagining the three of us laughing over a meal together.
I waited. And waited.
Daylight faded. No call. No text. No Kevin.
Eventually, I took Tommy myself. And when we got back, there he was—pressed up against her in his car, right outside our building.
I covered Tommy's eyes, told him to go inside. Then I stormed over and pounded on the window.
That was the last time I let myself explode.
The silent treatment began.
"Kevin, stop," I say now, my voice flat. "I'm not some naive girl playing games. I didn't bring up divorce to get a reaction out of you. I've thought this through."
Ever since that night.
"I read the agreement," he says, like it's absurd. "Half the savings—that's it? Haley, be serious."
"Tommy still needs to eat. This isn't just about us. Grow up."
"Haley," he counters, smug, "you won't have anyone spoiling you once you walk out that door."
He's never this chatty. He thinks this is my way of thawing the ice.
Then he glances at Tommy. Our son shuffles over, those big, pleading eyes looking up at me.
"Mom," he whispers, all tiny and hopeful, "I really want hotpot."
My whole body locks up. Mom disappear flashes in my mind like a warning every time I look at him.
"Do whatever," I mutter. "Let's just get this over with."
Kevin smirks.
Tommy lights up. "Yes!"
Their happiness feels like a world I'm no longer part of.
End of The Ghost in My House Was Me Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Ghost in My House Was Me book page.