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Kali sat on the other side of the room, her gaze trained on Theo. His chest rose and fell, like nothing in life mattered but that. Her chest felt constricted. Twisted. Weighted. Her breath shook as she relived the moment.
Walking up the street, thoughts on how to get more shifts, how many she would need to qualify for full insurance, her need to move, her need to just do better, vanished, became nothing, as Theo tumbled in front of that car.
She placed her hand on her chest. Pushed. Harder. Harder. If she could touch the spot that ached, make it come alive, maybe it would leave her. She took a deep breath, the muscles in her arm strained with the pressure, yet the knot in the centre of her chest intensified.
She needed sleep.
But she couldn't close her eyes. Couldn't stop looking at him. Theo was her everything. If it hadn't been for that man ... she couldn't even think the words.
Kali rose from the chair and crossed to the bed. Theo was almost four. Too old to be sharing a bed with Mom, but she'd miss the day when she no longer felt his tiny warm body curl around her the way it did now.
Still, it wasn't right. This cramped apartment. Mould in the walls and mice, the occasional rat, scurrying along the floor so they never went barefoot. A three-year-old sharing a bed, a room, with his mother. Theo deserved painted walls with race cars or dinosaurs or balloons or whatever he wanted. He deserved a bed of his own. He deserved more than she had to give.
Kali nuzzled her face in the nape of his neck, revelling in her baby's warmth. He murmured in his sleep and she almost cried out. He could have been gone. He could have been lying in a hospital bed or in a morgue, not here with her. Two seconds, and her life, as she knew it, could have been obliterated.
Kali pulled back from the boy's neck and gazed at the ceiling. He was unnerving, that man. Odd in a way that made her wary. It wasn't just his clothes—he dressed like a homeless person—but the way he stood, despite that: Tall. Broad. Not the slumped shoulders characteristic of most men who dressed like him. He stood like he was used to being noticed. He spoke that way too, his voice deep. Resonant. The kind that pierces through walls. The type that's incapable of a whisper.
Something was off about him. His clothes, his hair, his apartment. Something was definitely off.
She'd done what she said she would when she went back with the crutches. Two knocks on the door, opened it, propped the crutches on the edge of the couch, and then vanished. She hadn't let Theo play with the dog. She'd barely looked at the man. Hadn't even asked his name.
Kali snuggled back into Theo. Morning would come too soon. Always too soon. She yearned for perpetual night, to hold Theo, safe in her arms. To let silent tears trail down her cheeks. To not have to be strong.
This hadn't been the plan: her, alone, like her mother had been. Like Kali had sworn she'd never be. Derek was supposed to be here. Supposed to cut the burdens in half and multiply the joys. That was the plan. The promise. The two of them a team. The two of them conquering the world, conquering their past. Building a future.
But he was gone.
The alarm sounded. Kali reached across Theo to turn it off, kissed his brow, and walked into her day.
“Eggs or pancakes?” Kali kept her back to Theo as she stood at the counter. “Both?” No response. Kali closed her eyes, breathed. Endure, the psychologist had told her. Do the best you can. Advice her grandmother had given her countless times, but from a psychologist the words came at one hundred and fifty dollars an hour. “Maybe both, huh? After that big day we had yesterday, you must be ravenous.” Use big words. Exciting words. Words that prompt curiosity.
Silence.
“Theo?”
If he has to communicate, he'll find a way. The psychologist looked so superior as she said those words. Like it was simple. I know you mean well, but you coddle him. He doesn't need to talk because you talk for him.
“Theo, honey, what—” Kali's voice cut off at the tug on her pant leg. Theo stood. Smiling. He held up two fingers. ‘What does that mean?’ she was supposed to say. ‘Eggs or Pancakes?’ She was supposed to force him to communicate. Show him the need. But that smile. Those eyes. So trusting. So open. Full of love. He wasn't doing this to be difficult. He had his reasons. He had to have his reasons. “Both, honey?”
Theo nodded, his smile growing even larger. He squeezed her side then retreated to his Lego table in the corner. It was second hand, of course. Missing some of the key pieces—a barn door, the roof on several vehicles, the panes for a windmill. Not that he cared. He clapped his hands when she had brought it home. Hugged her twice. Squatted before it, the way he was now, with elbows on knees, chin on hands, assessing.
At least the psychologist was smart enough to see Theo's lack of speech had nothing to do with his intelligence. Not like the daycare who forced him out, saying he wasn't developed enough to keep up with the other kids.
Monsters, the lot of them. Kali turned back to the counter and reached for the flour. That last day she'd found Theo in the corner. Crying. Shaking. The staff had been elusive, tiptoeing around the truth. But Kali knew the eyes of a mocked child, a tormented child.
Theo might be sensitive, but he wasn't stupid. And neither was she.
While the pancakes sizzled in the pan Kali put on gloves and went to check the rat traps. She had them in cupboards in the kitchen, bathroom, and hall closet—all places with child locks on them. The last thing she wanted was Theo seeing more death. More trauma, even of vermin.
The first time she'd checked the traps she'd gagged, ran to the toilet, and lost her breakfast. The mice made her sad. The rats made her sick. She didn't even bother with mouse traps anymore. They weren't such a big deal. But rats? Dangerous. Disgusting. Unacceptable.
The muscles in Kali's shoulders went rigid as she opened the cupboard under the kitchen sink.
Nothing.
She travelled to the bathroom next. Clear. At the hall closet her chest tightened. She opened the door. Bile rose in her throat, but she knew better now—check the traps before breakfast. This was the fifth rat in seven days. She squinted her eyes shut, clamped her lips closed, and reached.
“Theo, baby, stay at the table till Mommy says.” No response, of course, but he'd heard her. Kali released the body, used a bag to pick it up, reversed it, and knotted it off. She then dropped that bag in another, knotting it off as well. She couldn't have this in her home any longer ... Not that this was a home.
Kali reset the trap and closed the hall door, making sure the child protective knob was doing its job, then ran out of her apartment and down the steps to the large communal dumpster out back. She threw the rat in, anger growing and bubbling with each new step.
What if one of these disgusting creatures crawled over her son in the night? Bit her son? She cleaned constantly—scouring the counters, the tables, everything the vermin could touch and infect. It was new for her. She'd never been an obsessive cleaner, and she hated it. But if one of them infected Theo. Bit Theo. Anything.
Kali stopped outside her apartment door and braced her head against it. Guilt settled in her gut for leaving her baby inside. Alone. Even for these few minutes. Guilt grew at the reason why.
She needed to talk to that jackass of a landlord again. He knew about the mould. He knew about the rats. He promised he'd do something.
But three weeks now since she'd seen the first rat. Five since she first told him about the mould—prompted by the burst pipe in the apartment above, the one she'd used to live in. And still nothing.
Remembering the pancakes, Kali rushed inside. A little darker than she'd like, but not burnt. Theo looked up when she entered, his smile serene.
“Almost ready!” she called, her voice falsely bright. “I hope you're hungry, Mister.”