Chapter 171 Deleted account

Chapter 171 Deleted account
Amelia didn’t return on Monday like she planned. I kind of expected it, so when she called a month ago to inform me, I was not surprised. The only issue is having to wait for her return, which might not happen soon. Ashley is home, and they have family trips and outings to plan before she leaves.

On the bright side, it means I don’t have to mention Mr Dissick. She doesn’t have to know he was here, that he hugged me and my body recognised him before it dawned on me how much I loathed his existence.

Jason and I agreed not to mention it to her. By now, he has figured out who Mace’s dad is, but it’s still my choice to tell Amelia about the encounter. How dare him walk in there like it’s a regular date at a pub and hug me? What does he think I am? A doormat who waited for her stepbrother?

I click my tongue and turn on my laptop. I don’t care what his story is, I don’t forgive him. My heart pounds when an image of him flashes through my mind. His blues lighted up when they saw me. He looked happy, almost expectant. His fame must have gotten into his head if he thinks I’ll willingly open my arms and heart to him.

My laptop comes to life, and I smile at my screen. That was the purpose of having Mace as the screensaver, to smile each time I saw it. It’s no different this time as I open up the files I created after Amelia called me. We try to speak every evening. 

There is a list of countries for us to visit on my screen. I may have started this because of her. She’s right, we need a break. We can start in Europe. I sit straighter on the chair and tilt the laptop towards me. From the mirror, I spy on Mace. Amelia wasn’t here when he turned nine months old, but she did call. I don’t want to believe she’s lying about her prolonged stay at home. Maybe I’m lying to myself. But...she’s okay. She has to be okay. She will be okay. 

The phone on the table rings. Dad. He’s here. He wanted to spend some time with his grandson, but I think that’s an excuse to watch me. He has been acting suspicious since last month. Does he know something about Amelia that I don’t? I doubt it. If she has issues, she will tell me first. The phone stops ringing before I pick it up. It vibrates with a text. He is about five minutes away. 

I take a picture of the list on my screen and text it to Amelia to hear her opinions. We can start travelling next year. On my feet, I grin at my son through the mirror, grabbing the laptop that almost slips from my arm. Mace hears the commotion and looks up. 

Mace crawled. My son crawled. I dump the gadgets and crouch in front of him.

“Do it again,” I say. “Do it for Mama, Macey.” 

Mace snickers. His palms slap onto the rug, he sways a little and pushes forward. I gasp. A hand goes over my mouth when he crawls a few feet away from me. Warmth spreads through my chest. I jump in excitement, too giddy to stand still. 

My baby is crawling. 

Soon, he will be walking and talking and he will be an adult wanting to leave me. 

Tears flood my eyes. I sniff quietly, ambling to the table to get my phone. I’m a  mix of emotions. Mace is unaware of me making videos, content in his ignorance as he explores the room on his knees and hands. 

I send two videos to Amelia, then another to our group chat. None of them are online. My phone beeps in my hand. Dad is here. I snatch Mace off the floor, taking the stairs two at a time. My whole body thrums with excitement. I almost miss the last stair. I need to share my happiness with someone. 

Mace struggles in my arm. I let him down to open the door. Dad smiles once he sees me. I ignore his outstretched arms and pull him in. Mace is in the middle of the living room, but this time, he’s seated.

“Mace walked,” I tell Dad. 

He pauses. “Walked?”

I facepalm. “Crawled. I mean, crawled.” 

Joy spills to my voice. I laugh at myself. Dad saunters to his grandson. He tries to pick Mace up but he crawls out of reach. We share a glance and burst out laughing. 

That boy has no idea the amount of joy and colour he brings to our lives. I hop to the kitchen and microwave the leftover lunch for Dad. On my return, granddad and son are cuddled on the chair having a chat in baby language. They look up when I clear my throat and wave. My heart swells. I pull the table closer to dad and drop the tray. 

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I open up my arms and Mace does a happy dance. Mr Dissick is missing out on these moments and it’s all his fault. Is it? Yes. Yes, it is. But he doesn’t know about Mace. Still, it’s his fault. 

Mace crawls to me, smiling. I make a face, and he laughs. The room is quiet except for the sound of a fork meeting plate. I feel Dad’s gaze on me while he eats.

“What is it, Dad?” I blurt out when I can’t take the stare anymore. He shoves a fork of porridge into his mouth. I pull Mace up to sit him down on my leg. My father sighs. “Dad, do you have something to tell me?” 

Dad drops his plate on the tray. “I was hoping you had something to tell me.”

“About what?” I whisper. It’s about Amelia, right? Dad shrugs. I draw back so he’s in full view. “Come on, don’t do this to me. What is it? Just tell me already.” 

“I was wondering if you had any visitors.” 

“Visitors?” I join him on the couch. “I didn’t. Should I have gotten any visitors?” 

“Maybe?” He palms his knees and lets out a strangled sigh. Our blues meet, and I smile for him to continue. He’s scaring me. “I gave Calum your house address. Well, I gave it to Dani. I haven’t spoken to the boy since—”  

“Dad!” 

He fists his hands, and his knuckles pale. “I didn’t tell him about Mace, okay? But I was hoping he would see him when he comes.” 

“Fine. Mr Dissick didn’t come here. I didn’t get any visitors. I told you guys he doesn’t care.” That stupid image of him looking hurt when I yelled at him sneaks into my heart. “He didn’t care then, he doesn’t care now.” 

Dad cups his face and groans. “Maybe you weren’t home when he checked? This was about a month ago, Cathy,” he adds, his voice hopeful. I wrap my arms around Mace, who’s now seated between my legs.  

“He doesn’t care—” I stop myself when Dad glares. My chest sags with defeat. “Well, he never checked. He didn’t come here, Dad.” 

“Are you sure?” 

I nod. “I’m not lying.” But I omit the fact we saw at the pub and he looked heartbroken. 

“Do you want me to contact Dani?” 

“How do you even still have her contact?” 

“She reached out,” Dad states. My lips pucker. He chuckles and picks up his plate. His eyes soften with tenderness. “I know you think you know what you’re doing, Cathy, and you think it’s the right thing. But I don’t agree with it, not all of it. Mace is losing out. Calum is, as well. And it’s not his fault or yours, it’s all mine. I should never have hit him or let my anger get the best of me. Now, you’re not happy.” 

“Because he broke my heart,” I whisper yell. 

Dad might have hit him, but he chose not to have anything to do with me after that. 

Mace turns around in my arms. Wobbling to his feet, his hands reach up to my face and he brushes the tears on my cheek. His face contorts, then a cry tunnels out of his lips. 

I hug him. My tears spill to his back. “It’s okay, Macey.” We don’t need Mr Dissick.

“I just want you to be okay,” Dad whispers.

Using the back of my palm to dab the tears on my cheek, I murmur, “I will be, as soon as all of you stop meddling. So, please stop.” 

For the rest of Dad’s stay, we don’t mention Dani or her son. She reached out too late. When it’s time for Dad to leave, he doesn’t let me walk him to the door. I don’t protest. The few hours spent with him has drained me. I know I put him in an uncomfortable position, but it’s a small price for him to pay. After all, this started because of him.

I stay downstairs for a few hours. It’s late by the time we head up to our room. Dad’s words weigh heavy on me. Once Mace is in bed, I turn on my laptop and check the BC website. Most users prefer the app, but you get a preview on the website and a prompt urging you to continue viewing in the app. 

Closing and opening my palm, I tap on his username and hold my breath. I haven’t checked since I saw him. I didn’t even call. The page loads for a minute too long. A quick check shows the WiFi is working fine. When it loads, it’s to show an empty page. 

Blood pumps faster to my heart, my ears ring. I click the refresh button and it’s the same thing. Two fingers automatically press to my temple as a pounding begins there. I scroll through the page, then search for the title of his post. It returns with some results from \[deleted account\], and my heart stops.

I search for another one of Mr Dissick’s posts. It comes up with the same result. 

He deleted his account. 

Why? 

My teeth sink into my lip till it draws blood. I close the browser and open my Gmail. The draft sits where I left it. It’s now or never. I can do this. I click on the email and hit send. 

Anxiety pumps through my veins. I tap my fingers on the table, waiting for his reply and expecting the worst. He deleted it because I yelled at him? Seriously? What a coward. 

Why am I surprised? Running was his strong suit. He is quite good at running away from his problems. I shut down the laptop and crawl into bed with my phone. I’ll get an email notification on my phone, anyway. 

I toss and turn in bed, but sleep avails me. Tired of my raging thoughts, I dial Amelia’s number but it rings without interruptions. She should have called me after receiving the message. The next stop is WattsApp. Her last seen was yesterday. There are tons of messages in our group, probably Taylor and Rose hyperventilating at Mace’s new skill. 

What if I call Mr Dissick? No, I want him to see the pictures first. I tap on my contact list and scroll to the number saved as: Do Not Call. A small laugh sputters out of my lips. I’m about to call him. I don’t know what I’ll say if he picks, but I dial him. We can worry about small talk after I tell him about Mace. 

It doesn’t connect. I close a hand over my mouth, refusing to give that tiny voice in my head another moment of thought. My frustration bubbles and seeps into my veins. The second and third time, I get the same response. The number is unreachable. 

I glance at Mace’s crib. He’s losing out with his father. I’m making him lose out. But it’s not my fault. Argh. Dad should not have come here. I drop the phone on the bed and shut my eyes. A beep sounds beside me, and my eyelids open. I grab the phone and release a breath of relief. There’s a notification on my homescreen. 

He replied. 

I open the email and my mind blanks. Words stare back at me but I can’t process it.

Address not found. 

Your message wasn’t delivered because the address couldn’t be found, or is unable to receive mail.