Chapter 2
A truck ran the red light.
The front of the car caved in, crushing the driver against the steering wheel.
The airbag slammed into me, my head buzzing, everything a blur.
Jonas reached over from the passenger seat and dragged me out.
Later, the cop told me Jonas had kicked open the back door and shoved me out.
That was when the car went up in flames.
He never made it out.
At the funeral, Alysha stood there, nine months pregnant, not shedding a single tear.
She stood there, like she was planted there, unmovable.
After the funeral, she called out to me, "Landon."
I turned around.
She said, "Jonas is gone. The baby's due next month."
I said, "Alysha, if you need anything, just let me know."
She looked up at me, her eyes rimmed red, but not a single tear fell.
Alysha said, "A child can't grow up without a father."
I was standing in the hallway of the funeral home, November wind biting outside, the lights overhead cold and pale.
I got what she was saying.
I was twenty-eight, single, and had no girlfriend.
Jonas gave his life to save mine. I owed him my life.
"Alright," I said.
Because of that one word, I spent the next six years paying for it.
On the day we got our marriage certificate, Alysha was already ready to pop.
The city hall staff smiled and congratulated us.
Alysha signed the form without a hint of emotion, then passed the pen to me.
"Let me make something clear," she said.
"Go ahead," I said.
She said, "I'll handle the pregnancy myself. You need to help me raise him. And in the future, I'm not having any kids with you, ever."
I held the pen, pausing for a couple of seconds. "Alright."
Alysha's voice was cool and businesslike, like she was negotiating a contract, "And my career's taking off. I don't have time for housework. If you want, you can quit your job."
Back then, I was making 60,000 dollars a year and was a key member of the project team.
"Alright," I said.
She nodded, stood up, and walked away.
Never once did she say thanks.
I didn't blame her.
She never thought she needed to thank me. From her point of view, I was settling my debt to Jonas.
Maybe she was right.
The day Felix was born, I waited outside the delivery room for six hours.
When the nurse finally came out, she was holding this tiny red baby, all wrinkled up. He was so ugly it was almost shocking.
"Congratulations, Dad," the nurse said.
I took Felix in my arms, my hands trembling.
The little guy was bawling his eyes out, eyes squeezed shut.
I looked at him and thought, 'Jonas, you seeing this? Your son's a real ugly little thing.'
But as long as Felix was alive, that was all that mattered.
From that day on, I became a full-time stay-at-home dad.
At twenty-eight, I quit my job and started learning how to make formula, change diapers, and soothe a crying baby.
The old ladies in the neighborhood looked at me like I was some kind of exotic creature.
"Hey, what's with that young guy always taking care of the kid?"
"Bet he's living off his wife."
"His wife's the boss, makes good money. He's just lazing around at home."
I heard it all, but I didn't bother explaining. No one would understand anyway, and I didn't need them to.
A grown man, jobless, playing house as a stay-at-home dad. In this world, that was basically a crime.
When Felix was a year and a half, he finally learned to say "Mom."
Alysha happened to be home that night, just getting in after working late until one in the morning.
Felix reached out to her from his playpen, shouting, "Mom! Mom!"
Alysha froze for a second, then crouched down and scooped him up, actually cracking a smile for once.
I stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a bowl of hot mushroom soup.
"So, did you teach him to call you Dad, too?" she asked.
I replied, "Yeah, I did. He still mixes it up sometimes."
Felix turned and looked right at me. "Dad."
My chest tightened with warmth.
But Alysha's expression shifted instantly.
Alysha said, "Don't teach him to call you Dad."
Her tone was soft, but icy as hell. "His father is Jonas. You're Landon."
My hand froze mid-air, still clutching the bowl of soup.
I asked, "Then what am I supposed to be to him?"
"Just call you by your name," Alysha said.
I looked at Felix's confused little face.
He was only a year and a half old. He didn't understand any of this.
"Alright," I said.
From then on, Felix called me by my name, "Landon."
Just one extra syllable compared to "Dad," but it built a wall between us.
When Felix turned three, Alysha became head of the department.
She threw a dinner party for her coworkers to celebrate, but left me out.
I stayed home, cooked up a feast, and waited until eleven, reheating the dishes again and again.
When she finally got home, smelling like she'd bathed in whiskey, I took her bag and coat.