Page 92 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Because I don’t want to be a father. I can’t.”

“All right, son.” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I tried for years to convince your grandparents to ask for custody of you. But they always told me a child needs to grow up with their own parents.”

“Don’t you agree?”

“No. A child needs to grow up with the people who love him.”

I don’t know why, but her words hurt. I already love my child, even though I’ve never met him or her. Even though I don’t know his name. It’s precisely because I love him that I know he’ll be better off without me.

Mary seems to notice the change, because she reaches out and caresses my cheek as if she wants to console me. “You’re a good man. I know you’ll make the right decision. Don’t let your past decide your future, though. Emily’s not your mother, and she’s not Valerie. What happened was a tragedy, but you can’t allow your ghosts to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” I whisper, closing my eyes to keep my tears from spilling over.

“I understand,” she says after a few moments. “The choice is yours.” With a pat on my shoulder, she walks toward the door. I hear it open. “Logan?” she calls one last time. “I truly believe the things I’ve told you. Not all parents should raise their children. Some, like Daniel Price, aren’t cut out for the job.” She pauses. “But you’re not your father.”

The door closes, and silence falls again in the apartment. I hate it, the silence. Because now I can hear the thoughts that are piling up in my mind thick and fast, screaming at me.

I never wanted a child, but then Valerie got pregnant. I was happy when I found out. In fact, I never believed it was possible to be that happy. Until the day I lost both of them. The woman I loved and my son.

I swore to myself I would never make the same mistake again. I only dated much older women after that. Women who definitely didn’t want children and who would do anything to avoid them. Women who were focused on their careers and only wanted a one-night stand.

Until Emily.

She was a mistake, but she was the best mistake I’ve ever made.

I holdthe roses tightly as I walk the path I know by heart. Five years and my feet still remember every turn. The cemetery is quiet today. It's just me, the birds, and whatever ghosts hang around these places.

Her headstone looks the same. Clean. Simple. Nothing like the mess she left behind in me.

Valerie Anne Collins. Beloved daughter, friend, and partner. Forever in our hearts.

I kneel, brushing away some dead leaves before putting the flowers down. My fingers linger on her name carved in the stone.

“Hey, Val.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Been a while.”

The wind picks up, rustling through the trees. I sit down on the grass, crossing my legs like we used to do when we had picnics in Central Park. Back when everything made sense.

“So... something happened.” I clear my throat. “I met someone. Her name's Emily.”

I find myself smiling a little, which feels weird to do here. “She's nothing like you. Total disaster on legs. The first time I saw her, she almost wrecked her delivery scooter trying not to hit some stray cat.”

I pick at the grass beside me, pulling out little blades and rolling them between my fingers.

“You'd have gotten a kick out of her, I think. She doesn't take any of my shit. Calls me out when I'm being an asshole.” I laugh, but it gets caught somewhere in my chest. “Which is... pretty often, actually.”

The silence sits heavy around me. I spent years talking to a piece of marble, pretending that somewhere you can hear me.

“She's pregnant, Val.” My voice cracks on the words. Feels like ripping open an old wound. “Found out today. Emily's pregnant with my kid.”

I have to stop, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. They're burning, and I can't... I won't... Fuck. I'm crying anyway.

“I'm so goddamn scared.” The words tear out of me. “After what happened with us, with our baby, I don't know if I can do this again.”

I wipe my face roughly with my sleeve. “What if I lose them too? What if history just keeps repeating, and I'm stuck watching everyone I love?—”

My voice gives out completely. I sit there, shoulders shaking, feeling pathetic and broken and so fucking terrified I can barely breathe.

It takes a few minutes before I can speak again.

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