Five years. That’s how long Natalie and I were together before we finally called it quits. We met when we were young, and by the time the excitement wore off, we just… stopped trying. It wasn’t dramatic. We simply realized we weren’t meant for forever.

Now, we live in different states, and the only thing that ties us together is Oliver—our three-year-old son. I get him during the holidays, which isn’t enough.

We kept things civil, agreeing that Oliver didn’t deserve to grow up in a house with constant conflict. Every evening, without fail, Natalie would video call so I could say goodnight to Oliver. It became a ritual I looked forward to.

Then, I got that call.

“Greg! Our son’s gone!” Natalie’s voice was frantic.

“What do you mean, gone?” I asked, my heart racing.

“Oliver is dead!” she yelled, her words stabbing me.

I couldn’t process it. “What? How?”

Natalie sobbed, and I sank to the floor. This couldn’t be happening.

Stressed man seated on the bed | Source: Getty Images

“I’ll be there. I’m coming right now,” I said.

“No,” she choked out. “We’ve already had the ceremony. He’s… been buried.”

“Buried?” I whispered.

I hung up, devastated, and stared at the phone. I hit the call button again.

“Greg,” Natalie answered, her voice barely a whisper.

“What the hell, Natalie?” I spat. “Why didn’t you tell me? If something happened to Oliver, you should’ve called me!”

“I couldn’t,” she stammered.

“You couldn’t? I’m his father! What happened?”

“It all happened so fast,” she sobbed.

I was shaking with anger. “Then when were you going to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

“Sorry’s not enough. Why didn’t anyone else call me?”

The next day, while I was packing, the phone rang. It was Mike—Natalie’s new husband.

“Greg,” he said, “Natalie made it all up. Oliver’s alive.”

My heart raced. “What?”

“Natalie’s been unraveling for a while. She thought if you believed Oliver was dead, you’d stay away for good.”

I stood frozen, a mix of relief and anger washing over me. “She lied?”

“Yes,” Mike said. “I couldn’t keep this from you.”

I finished packing and booked a flight. I needed to see Oliver.

When I landed, the anger grew inside me. Natalie opened the door, tears streaming down her face.

“Greg,” she said softly.

“How could you do that to me?” I asked, trembling with fury.

“I thought you’d take Oliver from me,” she admitted.

“Why would I do that?” I was stunned.

“I’m pregnant with another child. I panicked,” she said, sniffling.

“So you faked our son’s death?” I was incredulous.

She sobbed quietly, unable to meet my eyes.

“Natalie, this is about Oliver. You almost ripped him away from me, forever.”

Oliver’s footsteps echoed, and he jumped into my arms.

I reassured Natalie that I wasn’t there to take Oliver away, but I made it clear that if she ever did anything like that again, I would take legal action.

I insisted that Natalie and I go to counseling to address our issues. Mike had been supportive, and I was grateful he told me the truth.

Back home, the distance between Oliver and me was unbearable. I opened my laptop and began searching for jobs closer to him.

“Next time, Natalie,” I muttered to myself, “I won’t be so far away.”