Page 63 of Truck Hard

My gaze drifts to the refrigerator where Cam’s latest drawing is proudly displayed. He’d brought it home from art class yesterday—a sketched masterpiece of one of the characters in his video game. It’s quite good.

The image makes my throat tight with emotion. I had no idea my son could draw. It makes me wonder how many other talents and skills he has that have gone missed because of Charlie’s abuse.

“Hey, honey?” I begin carefully, cutting my pancake into precise squares. “Can I ask you something?”

Cam looks up, cheeks bulging with food. He swallows quickly. “Sure, Mom.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Can we talk about you calling Liam ‘Dad’ recently.” My fingers fidget with my fork. “I just wanted to make sure... that is, I want to know if you’re really okay with that?”

His brow furrows slightly, considering the question with a seriousness that makes him seem older than his twelve years. “Yeah, I am. He’s... he’s different, you know? Not like Charlie.”

The casual way he says Charlie’s name, not “dad” anymore, sends a complicated mix of emotions through me. Relief that he’s separated himself from that toxicity, guilt that he had to experience it at all.

“Different how?” I prompt gently, wanting—needing—to understand his perspective.

Cam’s face lights up. “He’s cool! Like, really cool. And his whole family is awesome. Uncle Chase lets me help with the farm animals, and Uncle Mac showed me how to change a tire yesterday. Way better than Charlie’s stuck-up family with all their fancy parties and rules about being quiet all the time.”

I have to blink back sudden tears, overwhelmed by the pure joy in his voice. This is what I’d always wanted for him—family, love, the freedom to just be a kid.

“And Dad.” Cam continues, pushing a piece of pancake through a puddle of syrup. “He actually wants to spend time with me, you know? He doesn’t just pretend when other people are watching.”

The observation hits like a punch to the gut. How much had Cam noticed over the years? How deeply had Charlie’s performative parenting affected him?

“Plus,” he adds with a slightly mischievous grin, “he makes you smile. Like, real smiles.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Oh really?”

“Uh-huh.” He shovels another huge bite into his mouth. “When’s he coming over again?”

The question catches me off guard, though I don’t know why. Liam has become a regular presence in our home, stopping by almost daily to work on repairs or just spend time with us. Each visit chips away a little more at my carefully constructedwalls, making it harder to remember why I’m trying to keep my distance.

“Actually,” I say slowly, “I was thinking of inviting him for dinner tonight. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yes!” Cam’s enthusiasm makes me laugh. “Can we have spaghetti? Grams says it’s his favorite.”

Of course she did. Mila Mutter has been not-so-subtly encouraging this relationship from the start, sharing little tidbits about Liam whenever I see her. I should probably be annoyed by the matchmaking, but honestly? It’s nice to have someone in my corner, someone who wants this to work as much as I’m starting to realize I do.

“Spaghetti it is.” I agree, glancing at the clock. “But first, we need to get moving or you’ll be late for school.”

Cam wolfs down his last few bites and rushes to grab his backpack while I quickly clear the dishes. As I load them into the sink, my reflection catches in the window—tired eyes, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing one of Liam’s old t-shirts that I definitely didn’t mean to sleep in.

I dry my hands on a dish towel and lean against the counter, letting out a long breath. The morning sunshine continues streaming through the window, warming my skin. Everything feels different now—lighter somehow, despite the lingering shadows of my past.

My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Liam.

Liam

Hope you slept well. Miss you already.

A smile tugs at my lips as I type back.

Hannah

Dinner tonight? Cam requested your favorite. Spaghetti.

Liam

Wouldn’t miss it. Need me to pick anything up?

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