Page 48 of The Widower
“Joshua doesn’t ride in cars anymore. It started after the accident with Jennifer and Maddison. He’s had panic attacks a few times. When the psychologist came to the house, he explained everything. Joshua’s been in therapy every two weeks since, but he’s still not ready to try again. His school’s five blocks from here—I need you to walk him.”
“Oh. Of course. No problem.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Apparently, Colin wasn’t the only one carrying scars from that accident.
Judging him didn’t make sense anymore.I couldn’t even begin to imagine what went on inside his son’s mind. But one thing was clear—Colin needed help too. And I doubted he’d ever seek it on his own.
“Thank you, Isabelle.”
He tried to smile but didn’t quite manage it.Instead, he just turned away.
Part of me wanted to say something—anything—to encourage him. But I was afraid of pushing too far, of testing his patience again. Lately, I’d been doing that a lot.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said softly. “You two will figure things out. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure Joshua has good company on the way.”
Colin didn’t answer. He just stood there for a few seconds, silent, before walking off down those long hallways I’d never dared to step into.
Joshua and I had just left the mansion.He looked sad and hadn’t said a single word to me.
“Excited for your first day?”I tried to make conversation.
“I didn’t wanna go.I’d rather stay home and play video games.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you miss your friends?”
“No.”
He was only seven, but Joshua seemed to understand far more than most kids his age—and he was painfully honest about it. The accident had changed his life, and he knew it.
“School’s important, Joshua. You need to go,” I said gently.
“Why don’t we just pretend we’re going to school and go back to my house instead?”
Clever little one…
“Well, that’s fine—if you don’t mind me getting fired and someone else taking you tomorrow.”
He went quiet for a few seconds, clearly thinking it over, then cracked a tiny smile.
“I don’t want you to get fired.”
“That’s too bad then. Guess we’ll have to go to school,” I teased, smiling back at him.
We didn’t talk the rest of the way. Joshua wasn’t the talkative type—or maybe he used to be before the tragedy. I wouldn’t know.
“Have a good class,” I said when we arrived.
“Thanks. And… I’m sorry for being mean to your daughter.”
Before I could even respond, he turned and walked toward the main gate, leaving me standing there, not sure what had happened—or what to think.
COLIN ADAMS
I don’t like talking about Joshua’s problems—doesn’t matter who it’s with. Even though Isabelle tends to talk a mile a minute and asks way too many questions, I’ve found myself trusting her more as the days go by.
Don’t ask me why my heart’s gotten this soft. I know it’s not smart to let my guard down, but... I can’t deny it feels good.
“You like playing at the playground?”
