Greg thought he and Natalie had figured out the whole co-parenting thing—until a late-night phone call shattered that illusion with news he never saw coming.
Five years. That’s how long Natalie and I were together before we finally called it quits. I think we both knew it was coming, even if we never said it out loud. We met when we were young—too young, maybe.
Young couple | Source: Midjourney
And by the time the excitement wore off and real life set in, we just… stopped trying. It wasn’t dramatic. No big fights. Just the slow realization that maybe we weren’t meant for forever.
Now, we live in different states. Different lives, really. The only thing that ties us together is Oliver—our three-year-old son. That kid is my whole world. I get him during the holidays, which is something, but it’s not enough. It’’s never enough.
Little boy blowing on a dandelion | Source: Pexels
But I wasn’t willing to turn things ugly. We didn’t need lawyers involved or a bitter custody battle. Natalie and I both agreed on that. Oliver didn’t deserve to grow up in a house where his parents were constantly at each other’s throats.
That’s why we kept things civil. Every evening, without fail, she’d video call me so I could say goodnight to Oliver. It became a ritual, something I looked forward to. Just seeing his little face light up, hearing him say “Night, Daddy,” before he went off to bed—it made everything feel a little less broken.
Dad having a call with his son | Source: Midjourney
Everything was… fine. We were making it work until I got that call.
“Greg!” Natalie’s voice came through the phone, but it wasn’t her usual calm tone. No, this time, she was crying. No—screaming. “Greg, our son’s gone!”
I froze. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oliver is dead!” she yelled, the words stabbing straight through me.
I couldn’t even process it. “What? What are you talking about? How?”
Natalie was sobbing so hard it was hard to make out her words. “He’s—he’s just gone. Oh my God, Greg…”
I sank to the floor, feeling the weight of her words crush me. This couldn’t be happening. Not Oliver. Not my boy.
“I’ll be there. I’m coming right now,” I said, scrambling to my feet, my voice shaking.
“No,” she choked out. “Don’t. We’ve already had the ceremony. He’s… been buried.”
“Buried?” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
I hung up, devastated. I stared at the phone, fingers itching to call Natalie back, to demand answers. My heart raced as the questions swirled in my mind, relentlessly. I hit the call button before I could talk myself out of it.
The phone rang once. Twice. And then, finally—
Man on phone | Source: Pexels
“Greg,” Natalie answered, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.
What the hell, Natalie?” I spat, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me anything? If something happened to Oliver—if he was sick or hurt—you should’ve called me!”
“I—I couldn’t,” she stammered, her breath shaky.
“You couldn’t?” I shot back, standing up, and pacing around the room. “I’m his father, Natalie! I should’ve been there. I should’ve known! What even happened? Yesterday, he was fine!”
“It all happened so fast,” she sobbed, her words a jumble. “I didn’t know how to—”
