Greg believed he and Natalie had successfully navigated the complexities of co-parenting after their split—until a shocking late-night phone call shattered that illusion and delivered news he never could have imagined.
For five years, Natalie and I were together. By the end, it was clear that things were falling apart, even though we never really said it aloud. We had met when we were young—maybe too young—and as time went on, the excitement faded. Life set in, and we just stopped trying. There were no explosive arguments or big betrayals; we simply drifted apart, realizing we weren’t meant to last forever.
Now, we lived in different states, leading different lives, with one thing connecting us: our three-year-old son, Oliver. He was my world, but I only got to see him during holidays. It was something, but it was never enough.
Despite the distance, we managed to keep things civil. We agreed we didn’t need lawyers or a messy custody battle—Oliver deserved better. Every night, Natalie would video call me so I could say goodnight to him. That routine became my anchor, seeing his little face light up, hearing him say, “Night, Daddy,” before drifting off to sleep. It was the one part of my day that made everything feel a little more normal, a little less broken.
Everything seemed fine. We were making it work—until that call.
“Greg!” Natalie’s voice came through the phone, but it wasn’t her usual calm tone. This time, she was crying—no, screaming. “Greg, our son’s gone!”
I froze, gripping the phone tighter. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oliver is dead!” she yelled, the words piercing through me like a knife.
My mind couldn’t process it. “What? How? What happened?”
She was sobbing uncontrollably. “He’s gone. Oh God, Greg… I couldn’t save him.”
I sank to the floor, the weight of her words crushing me. This couldn’t be happening. Not Oliver. Not my boy.
“I’m coming,” I said, scrambling to my feet, my voice trembling.
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t. It’s too late… We’ve already had the funeral. He’s… buried.”
“Buried?” I whispered, barely able to breathe. The shock was unbearable.
I hung up, devastated. My mind raced, and I couldn’t shake the urge to call Natalie back, desperate for answers. I dialed her number, my heart pounding in my chest.
After a few rings, she answered, her voice still shaky. “Greg…”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “If something happened to Oliver, you should’ve called me! I should’ve been there.”
She was sobbing again. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It happened so fast.”
“That’s no excuse,” I snapped. “I’m his father. I had the right to know!”
Her silence only fueled my anger. “Why didn’t anyone else call me? Not you, not your parents—hell, even Mike could’ve called me!”
Mike, her new husband, had taken on a role in Oliver’s life. As much as I disliked the guy, even he could’ve picked up the phone.
The next day, as I was packing my bags to leave for Natalie’s, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and saw Mike’s name. My jaw tightened as I answered.
“I’m on my way,” I said curtly. “I’ll be there tonight.”
“Wait, Greg,” Mike’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. There was something unsettling in his tone. “There’s something you need to know.”
My stomach dropped. “What is it?”
There was a pause before Mike spoke again, his words shaking me to my core. “Natalie… she made it all up. Oliver’s alive.”
I froze, unable to comprehend what I’d just heard. “What?”
“Natalie lied,” he said slowly. “Oliver is fine. He’s with her parents right now.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Relief, anger, and confusion crashed over me all at once. My son was alive. But Natalie had lied. I had spent the night mourning a child who was still very much alive.
“Why?” I finally whispered. “Why would she do that?”
Mike sighed. “She didn’t want you in her life anymore. She thought if you believed Oliver was dead, you’d stay away for good.”
I was speechless, my mind racing. Natalie, the woman I had trusted to co-parent with me, had lied in the worst way possible. My son was alive, but she had made me believe he was gone.
I packed the rest of my things in a daze, booked the earliest flight, and headed straight for Natalie’s house. When I arrived, she opened the door, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
“Greg,” she whispered, stepping aside to let me in.
I dropped my bags in the hallway, the formalities long gone. “How could you do that to me?” I asked, my voice shaking with anger. “Why would you make me think Oliver was dead?”
She looked down, unable to meet my eyes. “I was scared… I didn’t want you to take him from me.”
“What?” I blinked, trying to make sense of her words.
“I’m pregnant,” she admitted, her voice small. “I thought if you knew, you’d want to take Oliver from me… that you’d think he’d be better off with you.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “So you faked our son’s death?”
She started crying again, her shoulders shaking. “I panicked, Greg. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I was furious, but beneath the anger was heartbreak. “You buried him in my mind. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
She couldn’t answer. Her sobs filled the silence.
Just then, I heard the sound of little footsteps running down the hall. “Daddy!” Oliver screamed as he ran into my arms.
I held him close, refusing to let go. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.
I looked at Natalie, my voice steady but firm. “I’m not taking Oliver away, but if you ever pull something like this again, I will.”
We needed to fix this—for Oliver’s sake. I suggested counseling, hoping to address the deep issues that had led to this betrayal. Mike was supportive of the idea, and for that, I was grateful. If anyone had to be a stepfather to my son, I was thankful it was someone who had been honest with me.
Back at home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to be closer to Oliver. The distance between us had become unbearable. I opened my laptop, scrolling through job listings. It was time to make a change.
“Next time,” I muttered to myself, “I won’t be so far away.”
