Greg thought he and Natalie had figured out the whole co-parenting thing—until a late-night phone call shattered that illusion with news he never saw coming. Five years. That’s how long Natalie and I were together before we finally called it quits.
I think we both knew it was coming, even if we never said it out loud. We met when we were young—too young, maybe. And by the time the excitement wore off and real life set in, we just… stopped trying.
It wasn’t dramatic. No big fights. Just the slow realization that maybe we weren’t meant for forever.
Now, we live in different states. Different lives, really. The only thing that ties us together is Oliver—our three-year-old son.
That kid is my whole world. I get him during the holidays, which is something, but it’s not enough. It’’s never enough.
But I wasn’t willing to turn things ugly. We didn’t need lawyers involved or a bitter custody battle. Natalie and I both agreed on that.
Oliver didn’t deserve to grow up in a house where his parents were constantly at each other’s throats. That’s why we kept things civil. Every evening, without fail, she’d video call me so I could say goodnight to Oliver.
It became a ritual, something I looked forward to. Just seeing his little face light up, hearing him say “Night, Daddy,” before he went off to bed—it made everything feel a little less broken. 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 calm tone. No, this time, she was crying.
No—screaming. “Greg, our son’s gone!”
I froze. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oliver is dead!” she yelled, the words stabbing straight through me.
I couldn’t even process it. “What? What are you talking about?
How?”
Natalie was sobbing so hard it was hard to make out her words. “He’s—he’s just gone. Oh my God, Greg…”
I sank to the floor, feeling the weight of her words crush me.
This couldn’t be happening. Not Oliver. Not my boy.
“I’ll be there. I’m coming right now,” I said, scrambling to my feet, my voice shaking. “No,” she choked out.
“Don’t. We’ve already had the ceremony. He’s… been buried.”
“Buried?” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
I hung up, devastated. I stared at the phone, fingers itching to call Natalie back, to demand answers. My heart raced as the questions swirled in my mind, relentlessly.
I hit the call button before I could talk myself out of it. The phone rang once. Twice.
And then, finally—
“Greg,” Natalie answered, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “What the hell, Natalie?” I spat, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?
If something happened to Oliver—if he was sick or hurt—you should’ve called me!”
“I—I couldn’t,” she stammered, her breath shaky. “You couldn’t?” I shot back, standing up, and pacing around the room. “I’m his father, Natalie!
I should’ve been there. I should’ve known! What even happened?
Yesterday, he was fine!”
“It all happened so fast,” she sobbed, her words a jumble. “I didn’t know how to—”
“How to what, Natalie? How to tell me our son is dead?” My voice cracked, anger and sorrow crashing over me like waves.
“Do you even understand how that feels? To hear it like that?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”
I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Then when were you going to tell me?”
“I’m sorry,” she choked out again, like that would somehow make everything better. “Sorry’s not enough, Natalie. Not this time.” I bit my lip, holding back the scream building in my chest.
“Why didn’t anyone else call me?”
Even if she was too wrecked with grief to think straight, why didn’t her parents call me? Hell, even Mike—her new husband—could’ve reached out. As much as I hated the guy for taking my place in Oliver’s life, he should’ve called me.
The next day, while I was packing my bags, the phone rang. I glanced at the screen—Mike. Natalie’s new husband.
My jaw tightened as I answered. “Mike,” I said, zipping up my suitcase. “I’m on my way.
I’ll be there by tonight.”
“Wait, Greg,” Mike’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. There was something off in the way he spoke, and it made me stop mid-step. “What is it?” I asked, bracing myself for whatever he was about to say.
There was a pause, and when he finally spoke, his words shook me to my core. “Natalie… she’s lost her mind, man. She made all of this up.
Oliver’s alive.”
My heart slammed in my chest. “What?” I whispered, barely able to believe what I’d just heard. “Natalie made it all up,” Mike repeated, his voice tight with disbelief.
“Oliver’s fine. He’s with her parents right now.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My mind raced, trying to catch up with the flood of emotions.
The anger, the confusion, the relief. My son was alive. Alive.
I had spent the entire night mourning him, picturing him gone forever, and now—now Mike was telling me it was all a lie. “She… she lied?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Yes,” Mike sighed.
“She’s been talking about how she didn’t want you in her life anymore. I didn’t believe she’d go this far, but she let it slip. She thought if you believed Oliver was dead, you’d stay away for good.”
I stood there, frozen, feeling a rollercoaster of emotions.
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