Greg thought he and Natalie had nailed co-parenting—until a late-night call shattered that belief with news he never expected.
Five years together, then we split. No drama, just the slow realization we weren’t meant for forever. The only thing connecting us now is our three-year-old son, Oliver. He’s my world, and I see him during holidays, but it’s never enough.
Natalie and I kept things civil for Oliver’s sake. Every night, she’d video call so I could say goodnight to him. It was our routine, a small comfort.
Then came the call.
Natalie’s voice, frantic and broken, screamed, “Greg, our son is gone!” My heart stopped. “Oliver is dead!”
I couldn’t process it. “What? How?” But all she could say was, “He’s gone…”
I dropped to the floor, crushed by grief. Then she added something I couldn’t believe—he had already been buried. I wasn’t even there to say goodbye.
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