Then again, maybe it's for the best. How would I have explained to him that his dad's love was already split with another family?
"Baby Jeremy was up late last night missing you," Sherry said, a hint of reproach in her voice.
"Was it just Baby Jeremy missing me?" Ryan's voice had that playful edge.
Sherry blushed, feigning annoyance, "Really, Ryan? In front of the kid?"
The boy's sweet voice piped up, "Jeremy knows that Daddy loves Mommy most."
Ryan scooped him up, echoing, "You got that right, Baby Jeremy. Daddy loves Mommy most!"
They shopped for clothes, jewelry, bags, and shoes, then hit a children's amusement park, ending their day at a cozy restaurant.
I watched from across the street, not following them in.
They snagged the prime window seat. I watched Ryan carefully place crab onto Sherry's plate, then tenderly brush a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.
Ryan didn't hesitate—it was a deep, sure kiss.
The scene was something out of a winter postcard—snow falling, a warm glow from within, a couple in a loving embrace, a child clapping along.
Standing out in the cold, I saw everything clearly but felt only a numb, cold detachment.