Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 75

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**

**LENTINA THREE MONTHS LATER**

The rain had begun its relentless descent by the time I pulled up to the school to collect Stefan.

Over the summer, I had dedicated myself to learning how to drive, and I had quickly become quite proficient. Today, I decided to forgo a driver and navigate the roads on my own.

As Stefan slid into the backseat, a heavy silence enveloped the car. He didn’t utter a single word or even glance in my direction. Instead, he buckled himself in with mechanical precision, his gaze fixated on the window, where rivulets of rain raced down the glass, creating ephemeral patterns that mirrored his mood.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I attempted to break the ice, my voice light and hopeful. “How was school today?”

Silence.

“Did you have your art class? You were so excited about painting that volcano, remember?” I pressed on, trying to coax him out of his shell.

He merely shrugged, a faint movement that did little to reassure me. His eyes remained glued to the blurred shapes of houses passing by, a world he seemed to be drifting away from.

Stefan’s silence unsettled me deeply. He wasn’t the most loquacious child, but since he had started speaking again, he usually had something to share, especially about art, our new dog, or the little things that annoyed him about Sofia. But now, he sat there like a statue, lost in thought.

I couldn’t help but glance at him in the rearview mirror. His expression was distant, not quite anger, but something more profound—a sense of being far away, as if he were physically present but mentally adrift in another realm.

Upon arriving home, he unbuckled his seatbelt, snatched his backpack, and headed straight for the house without a word of goodbye or even a glance in my direction.

By the time I stepped through the door, he was already halfway up the stairs.

“Stefan,” I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the stillness. “Hey, take off your shoes first.”

He didn’t slow down, his small feet pattering away, fading into silence as he ascended. The soft click of his door closing sent a ripple of unease through me.

The house felt eerily empty without his usual exuberance. Even Sofia, with her keen little eyes, noticed the absence.

At dinner, she kept glancing at the empty chair beside her, her fork hovering mid-air. “Mommy, no ‘Tefan’?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Just shy of two, her words were already clear and articulate.

“No, baby,” I replied, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “He’s just tired, I think. Maybe school wore him out today.”

Sofia nodded, though her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. She jabbed at her peas, then paused, her little ears straining for sounds that weren’t there. Eventually, she too fell silent. Milo, our new dog, and the rest of the house were also subdued, the usual sounds of barking and panting replaced by an unsettling hush.

My worry for Stefan gnawed at me incessantly. It had taken so much effort and patience to coax him back into the world of words, and now, I felt that something was pulling him back into that quiet place again. After clearing the plates and telling Sybil she could head home, I resolved to take a plate of food up to his room. I reheated the meal in the microwave, even though I knew the oven would have done a better job; I just needed something to occupy my restless hands for a few more seconds.

As I ascended the stairs, the dim light of the hallway cast long shadows. I approached Stefan’s closed door and knocked softly. “Stefan?”

“Go away,” came his muffled response from within. My heart sank. He hadn’t spoken to me with such dismissiveness in months.

I knocked again, this time with a bit more insistence. “I brought you dinner. Come out so I can set it down.”

“Leave it,” he replied, his voice small and oddly brittle.

“Okay—” I said, pushing the door open anyway. If he truly wanted me gone, he could have slammed it shut. Instead, the door creaked open to reveal a room that smelled faintly of crayons and rain, the window left ajar to let in the cool breeze.

Stefan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his comforter pushed aside. A row of toy cars lay meticulously arranged on the carpet, like tiny soldiers awaiting orders. He didn’t even glance up at me.

I placed the plate on his desk and set a glass of water beside it. “I left your favorite… chicken, rice, and carrots.”

He remained motionless.

“Do you want me to leave it here? Or should I heat it up again for you later?”

Finally, he spoke, his voice so quiet I almost missed it. “I’m not hungry.”

I hesitated, trying to gauge his mood. “You’ve got to eat, sweetheart.”

His shoulders tensed at my words. “I said I’m not hungry.”

The sharpness of his tone caught me off guard. He had never spoken to me like that before. But I reminded myself that he was growing, and children often expressed their frustrations in unexpected ways. Still, I had thought I had a few more years before we ventured into the tumultuous territory of teenage rebellion.

I crouched beside him, attempting to catch a glimpse of his face. “Okay. That’s fine. You don’t have to eat right now.”

He stared at the carpet, his fingers fiddling with a small red car. “She doesn’t want me to eat when she’s not here anyway.”

A chill crept down my spine. “Who doesn’t?”

“You don’t get it!” he shouted, and I recoiled at the intensity of his anger. His small fists trembled with emotion.

I stood up slowly, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. “Okay. I’m listening.”

He let out a laugh that was devoid of humor. “You’re always listening to the wrong thing.” He shoved past me, heading for the closet but stopping short, his frustration boiling over as he banged his hand against the doorframe with a force that made the wood thud. “She’s mad at me. She says you’re not her. You’re not her.”

“I’m not trying to be her,” I insisted, my voice steady. “I’m trying to be here for you.”

He stormed to his bed and sat down heavily on the edge, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, hiding his face from me. His shoulders shook with the weight of his emotions. The voice that emerged from him next was so small, it felt like it belonged to a different world. “She comes at night. She sits right there.” He pointed to the foot of the bed. “She talks to me. Like before. Like when she tucked me in. She says she misses me. She says you want me to forget her.”

My throat constricted painfully. I thought of the stillness of the house, the way the light pooled on the carpet, the shadows that seemed to lean in from the doorways. I reflected on how often we attempt to explain loss to children, only to realize that the explanation is for us, not them. I hated that he was suffering.

“Stefan,” I said, reaching for him. He batted my hand away with a force that stung. “Please. Don’t push me away. Help me understand—help me help you.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. “She told me not to tell you.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mom,” he replied, his voice steady, yet laced with pain. “She said you’ll try to take her place. She said she doesn’t like you touching her things. She said I should keep it a secret.”

“Stefan, listen to me. Sometimes when we lose someone we love, our mind—”

“I’m not making it up!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’m not crazy!”

“I didn’t say you were.” I reached for his arm, but he jerked away violently, standing up so quickly that his toys tumbled over in the process.

“Get out!” he screamed, his voice echoing with raw emotion. “Get out of my room!”

I stood there slowly, hands raised in surrender. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go. But I love you, and I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks, breathing heavily as if he had just sprinted a marathon.

I took one last look at him, his small fists clenched, his chin quivering with the weight of his emotions, and backed toward the door.

As I stepped out, I heard the soft click of the lock behind me, sealing away the turmoil inside.