As Far As My Arms Can Hold You

I didn't sleep that night.

Not because I couldn't.

Because I didn't want to.

If I closed my eyes, I'd see him.

And that was worse than any nightmare.

Rafael.

Gone for five years.

Then suddenly—one courtroom, one accidental glance, and my world cracked open again.

I sat in the kitchen long after midnight, staring at my phone. His number was still saved. I hated that I hadn't deleted it. Like part of me still waited for something I swore I didn't want.

I typed a message.

> "You don't get to come back and break me twice."

I deleted it.

Typed it again.

Left it in drafts.

At 3:17 AM, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost let it go.

But my hand moved faster than my fear.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"I'm sorry."

His voice.

Exactly the same.

Like he'd pressed pause five years ago and just hit play again.

I didn't speak.

"I shouldn't have shown up like that," he said.

"You didn't mean to be seen?" I snapped.

"No. I didn't know Luna left you that letter. I only found it last week."

"You still left."

"I know."

"I stopped waiting."

"I'm not asking you to wait. Or forgive me."

"Good. Because I wouldn't."

Then came the question I feared.

"Is he okay?"

He didn't say Leo's name. He didn't need to.

And I didn't answer.

"I just want to know if he's safe."

"You don't get to ask," I said sharply. "You weren't there when he was born. Or when he got a fever so bad I thought he'd die. Or when he asked why other kids have dads and he doesn't."

"I know. I'm not trying to take anything. I swear. I just—"

I hung up.

---

I stared at the phone like it had burned me.

No. I wasn't doing this again.

I'd spent five years rebuilding myself from the ruins he left behind. Alone. Pregnant. Terrified.

I'd carried Leo while carrying a grief no one could see.

And now he thought one phone call could rewrite that?

No.

I got up. Poured a glass of water with shaking hands. Tried to calm the storm building behind my ribs.

But then I heard it.

Tiny footsteps.

"Mom?" a small voice called out.

Leo stood at the doorway, dinosaur plush clutched in one hand, eyes half-open.

"What are you doing up, baby?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Had a bad dream."

I knelt down and opened my arms.

He ran into them without hesitation.

I held him close, my heart breaking and mending all at once.

"I got you," I whispered into his hair. "Nothing's gonna hurt you."

His little fingers curled into my shirt like he was holding on to the only thing that made sense.

I looked over his head at my phone still glowing on the counter.

Still alive with ghosts I never wanted to face.

---

Later that night, after Leo fell asleep again, I sat beside him and just watched him breathe.

So peaceful. So innocent.

Everything Rafael had missed.

I should've felt triumphant. Like I'd won something.

But instead, I just felt… hollow.

Like his voice had reached into a part of me I thought was dead—and proved it wasn't.

I hated that.

---

The next morning, I packed Leo's lunch while he danced around the kitchen singing a made-up song about T-Rexes and peanut butter.

He was light. Pure.

Everything I wasn't anymore.

"Mom, guess what?" he said between bites of toast.

"What?"

"I drew you and me and the dinosaur family. Wanna see after school?"

"Absolutely," I said, forcing a smile. "I can't wait."

And I meant it.

Because no matter what Rafael wanted now—

This was what mattered.

This tiny, beautiful person who'd made me strong when I thought I'd break.

---

I dropped him off at school, kissed the top of his head, and watched him run toward the building.

Then I sat in my car and finally opened my drafts.

> "You don't get to come back and break me twice."

I deleted it.

Instead, I typed something else.

> "He's happy. He's safe. Stay away."

But I didn't send that either.

Because deep down, I knew it wasn't over.

Not yet.

I drove to work late.

I couldn't stop thinking.

Not about Rafael exactly—but about the version of myself that still reacted to his voice. Still heard it and froze. Still remembered the heat in his touch, the fire in his eyes, the way he kissed like it was a promise he never intended to keep.

I hated that part of me.

The part that forgot the nights I cried alone.

The bills I paid without help.

The questions Leo asked that I had to answer with lies soft enough not to cut him.

"Some dads just don't know how to stay," I'd told him once.

He'd nodded like he understood.

But I didn't.

And maybe I never would.

---

At lunch, I didn't eat.

I sat in the break room, scrolling through my old photos.

There were none of Rafael, of course.

But I still remembered.

His laugh.

The scar under his jaw.

The way he used to look at me like I was the only light left in a dying world.

That version of him was gone.

If it ever existed at all.

---

After work, I picked Leo up from school.

He ran into my arms like he always did.

Smelled like crayons and apple juice.

Felt like home.

"Can we go to the park, Mom?" he asked.

I almost said no. I was tired. I was anxious.

I didn't want to risk anything.

But I looked at him—really looked—and realized something simple.

He shouldn't have to carry the cost of Rafael's choices.

"Yeah," I said. "Let's go."

His smile was instant. Real. Bright.

I drove us to the park, heart pounding like I was walking into something I couldn't name.

---

Leo ran to the jungle gym. Climbed the ladder. Laughed.

And I sat on the same bench as yesterday.

My eyes scanned the trees automatically.

He wasn't there.

Or maybe he was.

I couldn't tell anymore what was real and what was fear shaped like memory.

But I sat still. For Leo. For myself.

Because if Rafael ever showed up again, I needed to look him in the eyes and say—

> You don't get to haunt me.

Not anymore.

---

That night, Leo drew a picture of the park.

It was messy. Crayon lines everywhere.

But in the corner, he'd drawn a man.

Just a shadow really.

Brown hair. Standing by a tree.

"Who's this?" I asked gently.

Leo shrugged. "I don't know. Just... someone I saw."

I didn't say anything.

Just hugged him a little tighter than usual.

And when he fell asleep, I sat in the dark and whispered:

> "If you ever come near him again without my permission, I swear I'll burn the past to the ground with you in it."

My voice didn't shake.

Because I wasn't scared anymore.

I was a mother now.

And mothers don't flinch.

---

After Leo slept, I stayed in the kitchen again.

Same chair.

Same silence.

Same damn ache.

I stared at my phone for too long. My fingers hovered above his message.

> "That was enough. I don't deserve more."

He was right.

But that didn't stop the storm from coming.

It came anyway.

In the quiet.

In the guilt.

In the memory of him sitting by my hospital bed five years ago with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands—

Oh wait. That never happened.

Because he wasn't there.

And yet, he still took up space.

He still knew how to haunt.

---

I opened the drawer next to the fridge. Pulled out the letter.

Luna's letter.

Crumpled. Read too many times.

She'd written it days before she died. Told Rafael the truth.

Told him about Leo.

But he never got it—until now.

And that's what changed everything.

She wrote things I still couldn't forgive her for.

But I also couldn't hate her.

Not fully.

Because she tried.

Even if it was too late.

---

I folded the letter again and shoved it back in the drawer.

Then I stood there.

Hands flat on the counter.

Breathing through a heart that felt like it had too many cracks to hold air.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

Not this time.

I didn't pick up.

I turned off the phone.

I looked at the closed door to Leo's room.

And I whispered to myself—

> "He's mine. He's enough. And I don't need to go backward to prove that."

---

That night, I dreamed of Rafael.

But not the Rafael who left.

The boy I met in college.

The one who kissed my cheek in the library.

Who whispered Spanish poetry into my neck.

Who told me I was the only thing that felt real in his broken world.

But even in the dream, I woke up crying.

Because even there, he didn't stay.

---

The next morning, I made pancakes.

Leo ate three. Wore syrup like war paint. Laughed until he fell off the kitchen stool.

And I laughed too.

Because love isn't always poetic.

Sometimes, it's messy, loud, and covered in maple syrup.

And sometimes, the greatest act of strength is choosing not to answer a ghost's call.

---