Only Ever Almost

The night after we registered for elementary school, Flint wasn't home. I sat in the courtyard with Caleb, enjoying the cool air.

He lay across my lap, watching me stitch while he chattered, "Mom, once I start school, I'll study hard. Someday I'll serve the country, just like Dad."

A few days later, because of Flint's indifference, Caleb never lived to see the start of school.

Caleb was only seven. He had just registered for first grade.

He never got to shoulder the schoolbag I had sewn for him. He never got to greet his new classmates and teachers. He never got to tell Flint that his dream was to protect the nation—just like his father.

I closed my eyes and let the tears stream down, soaking the schoolbag in my hands. On it was the name I had embroidered myself: Caleb Dumpsey. The sight tore something open inside me, and I broke down in sobs I could no longer hold back.

It wasn't until the staff placed the urn in my arms that I forced myself to stop crying and stagger out of the crematorium. My hands trembling, I slipped the urn into his schoolbag, then made my way to the school.

I wanted to fulfill his last wish—to collect the textbooks that belonged to him.

The principal listened quietly to my request, then nodded and handed me a fresh set of books. "My condolences."

I murmured my thanks, then drifted out of the office like a ghost.

On the playground, I ran into Flint. He was at Lucy's side, patiently explaining something to her.

When he noticed the books in my arms, he froze, as if only just remembering that Caleb was supposed to attend this school too.

"Isn't the term starting the day after tomorrow? Why are you here to pick up books now?"

Then his gaze sharpened. He tugged me toward the teacher.

"Mr. Henley, you just said all the slots are full. If a registered student doesn't want to attend, would that free up a spot?"

I stiffened—and then I understood.

He wanted Caleb's place withdrawn. He wanted to give the spot to Lucy's child.

My grip on the books tightened. I wrenched my hand free from his grasp and strode toward the school gates.

His face darkened, and he grabbed at me again. The books spilled across the ground.

"Flint, what are you trying to do?"

It was the first time I had ever raised my voice at him.

He froze, startled. Only then did he notice my swollen eyes.

"You… were crying?"

His gaze lingered on the wet streaks across my cheeks, as if at a loss.

I lowered my head, forced a laugh, and wiped my tears away. "No. The wind stung my eyes, that's all."

He frowned, still unconvinced, unease flickering across his face as if he sensed something happening just beyond his reach.

But before he could ask again, Lucy tugged at his arm.

"Flint, stop troubling Amanda. You promised to help me secure a spot for Jesse."

Interrupted, Flint turned away without another word, resuming his conversation with the teacher. Lucy glanced back at me with a smile, as if flaunting her victory.

This time, I didn't feel a thing.

When I got home, I smoothed the pages of each textbook, carefully wrote Caleb's name on them, and placed them inside his schoolbag. The weight of it matched the heaviness in my chest.

Resting my hand on the cold urn, I sniffed back tears and whispered hoarsely, "Caleb, Mommy brought your books home. Once we return, I'll read them to you every day. I'll teach you, alright?"

I tried to smile, but my tears fell one by one, cold against my palms. I was just about to fasten the bag shut when Flint's voice sounded behind me.

"What are you holding?"

…

Startled, I hastily wiped my tears and forced my tone to shift.

"You're back already? Weren't you with Lucy?"

Suspicion flickered in Flint's eyes, but he set the bundle in his hands down on the table and asked casually, "Where's Caleb? I bought him his favorite peach crisps."

As regiment commander, he often led missions that lasted half a month or more. Each time he returned, he would bring a bag of peach crisps home for our son.