Chapter 2: The Coffee Shop Question

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Chapter One

"Five years, and you’re still stuck in the past, huh?"

My ex-wife blew gently on her steaming coffee, her eyes clouded with complicated emotions as she looked at me.

We met at the same corner Starbucks where we'd split so many parenting duties back in the day—birthdays, teacher meetings, lawyer talks. Now it was just us, two regulars out of habit rather than love. The cup in her hand trembled just a little, though she masked it with a tight smile. Across the window, the old mall parking lot was half-empty, and the autumn wind rattled the flagpole out front.

Without realizing it, time had etched many lines of age onto her face as well.

There was a time I would've teased her about a new wrinkle, but now I just noticed the tiredness that never quite left her eyes. She still wore her hair in that messy bun—practical, efficient, always in motion.

The topic she brought up was the very reason we divorced.

We always circled it, never quite landing, afraid to say the word: Tyler. It sat between us like a third, silent guest at the table.

Years ago, we had a happy family.

Sunday trips to the lake, movie nights with popcorn all over the couch, long car rides singing along to oldies on the radio. We were that family—messy, imperfect, but real.

We both had careers, got along well with our parents, and had a healthy, chubby little boy.

He was always running around in his Spider-Man pajamas, making up stories, a smile full of crooked teeth. I still remember the way my dad called him "little linebacker" and the way my mom spoiled him with extra dessert.

Back then, what we heard most were the envious compliments from relatives and friends.

Barbecues in the backyard, neighbors dropping by with homemade pie, Tyler chasing fireflies while we sipped iced tea on the porch. Folks would say, "You two are living the dream."

I thought the three of us would just keep living peacefully like that.

We even had plans for a family trip to Yellowstone, a kitchen renovation—little dreams, nothing fancy. I thought we had time.

But five years ago today, everything changed.

I still wake up in a cold sweat on this date, the weight of it pressing on my chest before my eyes even open. Even the weather seems to remember—gray, still, the world holding its breath.

Something happened that I still can't bear to look back on.

My mind always stops short, skidding to a halt before the memory. But the pain is always there, humming like static in my bones.

My jaw clenched. I wanted to snap back, but the words just dried up on my tongue.