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Wyatt grinned. “I can appreciate that. Without his mom, it’s been a challenge. I cannot keep a nanny. They are all so… severe… here.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Losing your wife and the mother of your child had to be dreadful. It happened to my father. I flashed back to one of the few memories with him. He sat in a rocking chair with a blanket on the veranda of a castle in the woods. I sat in Alexandra’s lap, afraid to approach. He was gone already—nothing remained of the man he’d been by that moment. The vacant look in his eyes frightened me.
“You alright?” Wyatt asked, concerned.
My face telegraphed my emotions and discomfort.
“Sorry, my father… he lost my mother when she was giving birth to my little sister,” I said. “We all lost her. It just reminded me of that. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry. Did you know your mother?”
“I was two when she died,” I answered. “So, no. Did… did Theo?" Sorry, if that is?—”
“It’s fine,” Wyatt shifted on the bench. “This is our life.”
“I didn’t mean to make it?—”
“You didn’t,” Wyatt assured. “My grief therapist always reminded me that it is better to address it and say the things I miss than to deny her—and deny Theo—the memories.”
That hit me in the feels. “I get it. My sister—Alex—is always so caught up that it is always hard for her to talk about Mamma. She raised us. But she never got that maternal figure she needed—that we got in her—and it took until motherhood for her to unpack it. We benefitted. As she mothers the kids, she’s the mother she needs. So, she talks about Mamma more and more.”
Wyatt sniffled. “You have a way with words, Odette.”
“Therapy,” I snickered, breaking up the mood. “Therapy has taught mea lot.”
“Same. I lost my father at a young age, too. I could have unpacked that about 20 years before I did. Mom worked so hard for my sister and me. Uh, as far as Theo goes, his mother passed when he was a year old. She went out for a run and never came home.”
Unable to cover up my emotions, I looked back in horror.
“She was mowed down by a driver blowing through the pedestrian signal not far from our house in the States,” Wyatt said. “So, if I appeared shaken up, that was why. If I’m being overbearing, please tell me. I care… too much.”
I squeezed his hand. I knew I shouldn’t touch him, but the impulse was strong. That couldn’t have been easy for him. He didn’t pull back. He returned the squeeze.
“Nonsense. In my book, you cannot care too much, Wyatt. I want to help. Just text me when you get a moment. Let’s figure out a plan. I want to make the world safer for everyone. It cannot bring Theo’s mom back, but I can try to be on the right side of history. What was Theo’s mom’s name? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“Isla,” Wyatt answered. “And your father was?”
“Christophe. Mamma was named Linnea. And it’s why my oldest niece is, too,” I said, realising I still held Wyatt’s hand. “Sorry. I should go.”
Theo raced up. “Where are you going?”
“I have to go, darling,” I said. “But maybe I will see you again soon?”
Theo looked at his father. “Please, Papa!”
“Another day, buddy.”
“Goodbye, pink girl!” Theo declared.
I fought a hearty laugh. “Until we meet again, Theo.”
14
THE FRIEND
WYATT
Isat on a bench—fighting tears, watching Theo play with another child on the slide. Odette may not have known how much asking Isla’s name meant to me. Having someone acknowledge that she existed felt validating. Every day, I thought about what life might look like with Isla here.