As Far As My Arms Can Hold You

I didn't sleep that night.

I tried. I closed my eyes. I counted the seconds on the clock. But all I could see was him.

Rafael.

Five years gone. And somehow, one courtroom visit was enough to tear everything open again.

I sat in the kitchen long after midnight, staring at my phone. His number was still saved, like a ghost I refused to delete.

I typed a message.

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

Then I deleted it.

Then I typed it again.

Then I left it in drafts.

---

At 3:17AM, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost let it go to voicemail. But my hand moved faster than my doubt.

I answered.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"I'm sorry."

His voice.

Soft. Familiar. And still sharp enough to cut skin I thought had already scarred over.

I didn't say anything.

"I shouldn't have shown up like that," he said. "I didn't mean to—"

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

"No. I mean, I didn't know Luna left you that letter. I found it in her things last week. I didn't even know she'd written it."

I leaned against the counter.

"You still left."

"I know."

"I stopped waiting years ago."

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

"Good. Because I wouldn't."

Then he asked it.

"Is he okay?"

I knew exactly who he meant.

Leo.

I didn't answer.

"I just want to know he's safe. That he's—"

"You don't get to ask," I said sharply. "You weren't there when he was born. You weren't there when he had a fever at three a.m. You weren't there when he asked me why other kids have dads and he doesn't."

He exhaled.

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

I hung up.

---

The next morning, Leo was full of energy.

Running through the house with a toy dinosaur, roaring like the living room was a jungle.

He had no idea. No idea that the man who gave him half his DNA had called last night. Had whispered regret across a phone line.

I watched him.

And it hit me again—how perfect he was.

How undeserving Rafael was of even a glance.

Still, something gnawed at me. Not forgiveness. Just memory. And memory doesn't leave. It waits. Quiet. Heavy.

---

Later that day, I drove without thinking.

No plan. No destination.

I ended up outside Luna's old apartment.

Of course I did.

The lights were off. The balcony was empty. The dumb doormat that used to say "Come Back with Tacos" was gone.

Everything was gone.

I stood on the sidewalk with my arms crossed, like I was holding myself together.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I answered without speaking.

"Please," Rafael said. "Don't hang up."

I didn't.

But I didn't make it easy.

"You're lucky I'm not at your apartment with a baseball bat."

"You have every right."

"Damn right I do."

Silence.

Then—

"I need to see him."

My breath caught.

"No."

"I'm not asking to be part of his life. I just want to see him once. From far away. That's it. I won't come close. I won't speak. I swear."

"Why now?"

He was quiet for a beat.

"Because I'm not dying anymore."

I froze.

"What?"

"I had liver failure. Five years ago, I was told I had six months to live. I didn't want you to watch that. I didn't want him to remember me like that."

I stared at nothing.

"And now?"

"I got a transplant. A year ago. I lived."

I almost laughed. But there was nothing funny about any of it.

"So you disappeared to die like some tragic hero, and now you want to rise from the dead and ask for mercy?"

"I don't want mercy. I want the truth. And I want to own the damage I caused."

I hung up.

---

The next day, I took Leo to the park.

He ran toward the swings, shouting about a T-Rex.

Completely free. Unbothered.

I sat on the bench.

And then I saw him.

Rafael.

Far off. Near a tree. Watching. Silent.

He kept his promise.

He didn't move.

Didn't approach.

Didn't even look at me.

But I saw it.

The way his shoulders curled in.

The way his jaw clenched like he was swallowing something sharp.

The way his eyes never left Leo.

And I knew.

He was crying.

Not loud. Not messy. Just—real.

I hated him for it.

Because the man who left me shattered still looked like the boy I once loved.

Still sounded like the dream I once whispered into a pillow.

Still had a place in a story I'd spent five years trying to erase.

---

That night, I wrote a message.

> "You get one more minute near him. Just one. Then you disappear again. For good."

He replied instantly.

> "Thank you."

And I didn't know what that meant.

I didn't know what any of this was now.

But something was starting.

Something I didn't want.

Something I couldn't name.

Something that tasted like ash and memory.

---

Leo fell asleep early that night.

I didn't.

I sat on the living room floor with my knees pulled to my chest, same way I did the first time Rafael disappeared.

No music. No TV. Just the sound of the clock ticking and my brain chewing through old wounds.

My phone was still in my hand.

His last message stared back at me:

> "I'll wait again."

I almost typed something back.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I was tired of holding all this by myself.

But I knew how that story ended.

Same as always.

I speak.

He disappears.

I bleed.

He forgets.

---

The next morning, I left for work early.

I looked at Leo still sleeping and whispered one thing to him:

"I love you more than life itself."

He didn't respond.

Of course not.

But I needed to say it.

---

At the office, I couldn't concentrate.

Not because of Rafael.

Because of me.

I hated that a part of me still wondered.

If he'd kept his word.

If he was waiting at the park again.

If he watched Leo from a distance.

And what I hated most—

Was the thought that maybe Leo needed him.

By noon, I asked to leave early.

The next morning, I woke up before Leo.

I didn't know why. Maybe because sleep didn't feel safe anymore. Like my body remembered something was coming, even if I tried to forget.

Leo was curled up, small, hugging his dinosaur plush. The same way he always slept when he needed comfort. When he didn't want to talk about school or the kid who made fun of his drawings or the dream he wouldn't describe.

I didn't wake him. I sat by the window and just stared out, phone in hand.

One new message.

> "I'll be there. I'll stay back. One minute. That's all."

No name on the screen. But I knew who it was.

I didn't answer.

But at 11AM, I still went to the park.

Not for him.

For me.

To prove I could look him in the face and still choose to walk away.

---

Leo ran to the slides. His laugh rang out loud, like wind chimes in a storm.

I sat on the bench. Same place as yesterday.

Then I saw him.

Rafael. Twenty feet away. By the trees. Same coat. Same face. Same stillness.

His eyes never left Leo.

He looked... undone. Like he was trying not to fall apart just by watching.

He didn't move.

Didn't wave.

Didn't breathe too hard.

Just stood there like he was memorizing every second.

And for a moment, just a blink of time, I remembered the way he looked at me back when we were nineteen and thought forever was something we could afford.

Leo climbed the slide ladder, turned, and waved at me.

"Mom! Watch me!"

"I see you, baby!" I called back.

Then—he paused.

He looked behind him.

At Rafael.

Just for a second.

And I held my breath.

"Who's that guy?" Leo asked loud, pointing.

My stomach dropped.

I stood up.

Rafael was already turning around, walking away. Fast. Almost too fast.

I sat back down, heart racing.

Leo slid down and ran over.

"Mom, who was that?"

"No one, sweetheart. Just... someone from a long time ago."

Leo tilted his head. "Why was he looking at me?"

I forced a smile. "Maybe you reminded him of someone."

He stared at me for a second longer.

Then shrugged.

"Can we get ice cream?"

I almost cried from the simplicity of that question. From the way kids don't carry the weight we do.

"Yeah," I said softly. "Yeah, we can."

---

That night, Rafael texted again.

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

I stared at it.

For a long time.

Then I replied.

> "You're right."

No "thank you."

No "maybe."

Just truth.

Because for once, he wasn't running.

And for once, I didn't feel the need to hold his hand and lead him back to the fire.

I went to bed that night with Leo curled up beside me, arms tight around my waist. Safe.

He never asked about the man again.

But I knew.

One day he would.

And I'd have to decide whether to tell him that sometimes people disappear not because they don't love you, but because they don't know how to stay.

And maybe that's worse.

---