Chapter Text
💔
The late summer heat clung to everything in El Paso like a second skin —heavy, suffocating. Eddie paced in your backyard, arms crossed tightly over his chest. You sat on the worn back porch steps, a bottle of lemonade sweating beside you, watching him unravel in the golden light of sunset.
“She thinks I ruined everything,” Eddie said finally, voice thick with frustration. “And my dad… every look he gives me— it’s like I’m dragging the Diaz name through the mud.”
You didn’t reply right away. You’d heard it all before, the same guilt, the same shame. Since you were kids.
Eddie’s parents loved Christopher, sure, but they’d never truly hidden the disappointment they felt over how it all turned out. Especially since Shannon left. That he wasn’t the golden son they once imagined. Back when he was thirteen, brought home every trophy at ballroom dancing competitions.
“You’re doing your best,” you said quietly.
He turned to look at you, eyes tired, “My best doesn’t count for much.”
“Only because you’re still trying to win a game that was rigged from the start.”
Eddie sighed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means— stop trying to get your parent's approval. You haven’t even had time with your son, Eds! You don’t need their blessing to breathe. I know you can be a good dad to Christopher. You both need each other, he's barely six.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
He stepped closer, jaw tight, “You think I want to be here? Living under their roof again, like I’m nineteen with a baby in my arms?”
“I think you’re scared,” you said, softer than before. “And I think you’re tired. And I know you want to do what’s right for Christopher. But maybe staying here isn’t what’s best for either of you.”
“You think I haven’t thought about leaving?”
You got to your feet, frustrated and sad and a little angry. “Then do it. Stand up for yourself for once, Eddie. Move out of that place and stop letting them make you feel small.”
He scowled at you, “Are you saying I’m weak?”
“No,” you sighed. “Eds, come on. I think you’re stuck. And I’m trying to pull you out, but you won’t fucking move. You’re not weak. And you might have taken a couple of bullets in a war but you’re a coward.”
Eddie recoiled like you’d slapped him, and you closed your eyes, regretting your words immediately. His chest heaved once, twice. He nodded to himself. Then he turned and walked off without another word, a storm in his eyes, a tsunami in his heart.
You didn’t call after him.
💔
You were tired. The kind of tiredness that lived in your bones, where sleep didn’t fix it and caffeine didn’t touch it. Still, you dragged yourself to the community center you volunteered at once in a while. There’s a group meeting to support single parents in the summer, to help with babysitting duties, and you wanted to lend a hand in organizing it.
You didn’t see Eddie for two days.
You figured he needed time. Space. He always did after a fight.
You didn’t regret what you said, just how you said it. Eddie needed to hear it. Someone had to shake him loose before he curled so deep into himself that he forgot how to breathe. But still, you’d been waiting —hoping— he’d come back. Knock on your door, say something, anything. But nothing.
“I don’t know what else to do,” you told Maria —the fifty-something woman, sweet and gentle and always ready to listen. “I’ve tried, really. But Eddie— he won’t stand up to them. He just takes it. And I’ve tried to be patient but it’s like…”
You sighed and finally leaned back against the desk, dropping the pen. The hallway outside was a little noisy with people coming and going, busy with their own tasks.
“I don't know how he’s doing it. Why he is sticking to it. I mean, even I’m burning out emotionally just watching this disaster,” you rubbed your face with your hands and groaned. “Maybe he should just fucking leave. I can’t take it anymore.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Maria looked at you with quiet sympathy. “You don’t mean it.”
You sighed again and pressed your forehead against the desk top. “I don’t. It was bad enough when Shannon left without a fucking word. Like, all those years of friendship didn’t matter. As if I wouldn’t have had her back just because I’m Eddie’s best friend.”
Maria reached over and squeezed your hand.
“What do I do, Maria?” you mumbled.
“You’ve done more than enough,” Maria said.
“I love him,” you sat up, voice barely above a whisper. “I love Christopher. God, I love them so much. But I feel like I’m holding all of this together with duct tape, and every time I think he’s going to stand on his own, he just… collapses back into whatever guilt his mom stuffed into him as a kid. God, I hate that bitch.”
You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just pressed your lips together and shook your head.
💔
It was Maria who told you.
You were stacking chairs after the Tuesday night parenting group when she walked in from the front office, her steps unusually slow, the corners of her mouth drawn tight with something that looked like sympathy. You knew before she even said a word. Knew it in the way she hovered in the doorway, holding her clipboard like a shield.
“They left,” she said quietly.
Your hands froze mid-fold, the chair creaking under your grip. “Left?”
“Eddie and Christopher,” she hesitated, then stepped closer. “They packed up and left. Yesterday, I think.”
You blinked at her, trying to make the words settle in your ears. That was not what you expected. You thought maybe Eddie moved out without telling you, that he got a fourth job, or something like that.
“Did he say where?” you asked, though your voice was so hoarse it barely sounded like you.
Maria shook her head. “No. Just told the center they wouldn’t need care anymore. Didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
You looked down at your hands, still clenched on the chair. You nodded, once, then again, too many times. Like if you just kept moving, maybe the grief wouldn’t catch up. Maybe the weight wouldn’t settle in your chest like a stone.
The air in the community center felt too still. Too clean. Like nothing bad had ever happened here.
Maria called your name softly. But you only shook your head and just went back to folding chairs until the hall was empty and your knuckles ached.
You didn’t cry then.
💔
That night, you sat on the back porch where he’d last stood, where the heat had turned him furious and tired, where the light had turned him to gold and shadow and everything in between. The spot where his voice had cracked and yours had hardened.
The porch light buzzed overhead, flickering now and then like it was struggling to stay alive. Poetic.
You didn’t text him. You told yourself it was his turn. That if he needed you, he’d find a way.
And maybe that was the worst lie you’d ever told yourself.
Maybe you were a fucking coward, too.
The stars were dim behind a haze of city dust, and somewhere across the yard, a cicada screamed into the night. You wrapped your arms around your knees, forehead pressed to denim.
You hadn’t even said goodbye to Christopher. You hadn’t gotten to say, I love you, mijo. Be good to your dad.
You hadn’t told Eddie you forgave him. Or that you were sorry, not for the truth but for the way it came out of your mouth like a slap.
It felt like you’d been holding your breath for years, waiting for Eddie to choose something — anything — for himself. And now he had.
Just… far away from you. Without you. Not you.
When you finally went inside, the house felt different. Too quiet. Like something had shifted and wouldn’t shift back. You moved to open the fridge without thinking and saw it —still pinned under a fading magnet: one of Christopher’s crayon drawings. A crooked house. A stick figure holding yellow roses. A sun with too many rays. Your name written in messy handwriting.
You stared at it until the tears came.
Slow and steady, like rain that had been waiting all summer to fall.
You curled up on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, and let it happen.
Because this was it. This was what loving someone like Eddie meant. Watching him leave and praying he finds something better. Something softer. Something that isn’t so goddamn heavy all the time.
“I hope you’re okay,” you whispered into the dark. “I hope you’re somewhere warm. I hope Christopher is laughing. I hope you wake up every morning and don’t hear your mother’s voice in your head.”
You wiped your face on your sleeve.
“I hope you remember how strong and brave you are.”
And the last one— so quiet you barely heard yourself say it.
“I hope you never need me again.”
Because maybe this time, needing you was what kept him stuck.
And loving him meant letting him go find who he could be without the weight of your own expectations and hope tied to his ankles.
Maybe love wasn’t holding on. Maybe it was just… staying silent. And hoping.
That he finds a place where no one looks at him like he failed.
💔