Greg believed he and Natalie had finally mastered co-parenting—until a late-night call shattered that illusion with news he never expected. Five years. That’s how long Natalie and I were together before we finally decided to end things.
Deep down, I think we both knew it was coming, even if we never admitted it aloud. We met when we were young—perhaps too young. By the time the initial thrill faded and reality set in, we just… stopped making the effort.
It wasn’t dramatic. No explosive fights. Just the slow recognition that we weren’t meant for forever.
Now, we live in different states. Separate lives. The only thing connecting us is Oliver—our three-year-old son.
He means everything to me. I get to see him on holidays, which is something, but it’s never enough. It never feels like enough.
But I didn’t want things to turn ugly. We didn’t need lawyers or a bitter custody battle. Natalie and I agreed on that.
Oliver didn’t deserve a home filled with fighting and tension. That’s why we kept things civil. Every night without fail, she’d video call so I could say goodnight to Oliver.
It became a cherished ritual. Just seeing his little face light up and hearing “Night, Daddy” before bed—it made everything feel a bit more whole. Everything was… fine.
We were making it work until I got that call. “Greg!” Natalie’s voice came through the phone, but it wasn’t her usual steady tone. No, she was crying.
No—screaming. “Greg, our son is gone!”
I froze. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oliver is dead!” she shouted, her words cutting through me like a knife.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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