The phone rang at seven in the morning, jarring me from the restless sleep I'd finally managed to find. Sarah's name flashed on the screen, and something in my chest tightened. She never called this early unless something was wrong.

"Camille, I'm so sorry to call like this, but I had to tell you." Sarah's voice was strained, careful. "I was at the downtown gallery opening last night—you know, the one for emerging artists? And I saw... I saw Elio there."

My grip tightened on the phone. "Elio? He said he was working late."

"He wasn't alone." The words hung in the air like a death sentence. "He was with Georgina Simmons. And her son."

The room seemed to tilt around me. I pressed my back against the headboard, needing something solid to anchor myself. "What do you mean, with them?"

"Camille, they were holding hands. In public. He introduced her to everyone as his muse, his artistic inspiration. And the little boy—Lewis—he was calling Elio 'daddy' and clinging to his arm like..." Sarah's voice broke slightly. "Like they were a real family. They posed for photographs together. It looked so natural, so established. This isn't new, honey. This has been going on for a while."

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the nightstand. The room spun as Sarah's words echoed in my head. *His muse. Daddy. A real family.*

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All I could see was Elio yesterday, checking his phone, mentioning Georgina's exhibition, the scent of her perfume on his clothes when he came home.

"I have to go," I whispered, picking up the phone.

"Camille, wait—"

But I'd already hung up.

* * *

I drove through the city in a daze, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. Part of me hoped Sarah was wrong, that there was some innocent explanation. But the larger part—the part that had been watching Elio pull away for months—knew she was telling the truth.

Georgina's art studio was in the converted warehouse district, all exposed brick and floor-to-ceiling windows. I parked across the street and sat there for a moment, gathering courage I wasn't sure I possessed.

Through the large window, I could see them.

Elio stood behind Lewis at an easel, his hands guiding the child's smaller ones as they painted together. Georgina watched from a nearby stool, her expression soft and adoring, her hand resting possessively on Elio's shoulder. The afternoon light streaming through the windows cast them in a golden glow, like something from a magazine spread about the perfect family.

It was intimate. Domestic. Real.

Lewis looked up at Elio with pure adoration, saying something that made Elio laugh—a genuine laugh I hadn't heard in months. When was the last time my husband had looked that relaxed? That happy?

Georgina leaned closer, whispering something in Elio's ear that made him smile and nod. Her fingers traced down his arm in a gesture so casual, so familiar, it could only come from established intimacy.

I watched them for twenty minutes, my heart breaking with each passing moment. This wasn't an affair in its early stages. This was a relationship—a family—that had been built while I sat at home, mourning our son alone.

When I finally drove away, tears blurred my vision so badly I had to pull over twice.

* * *

I walked into my own house to find strangers in my living room.

Georgina sat on my couch, perfectly at ease, while Lewis knelt on the carpet surrounded by tissue paper and cardboard. In his small hands was Roy's robot—my son's most treasured possession, the one I'd carefully placed back on his memorial shelf just yesterday.

"Oh, Camille!" Georgina looked up with a bright smile, as if finding her in my home was the most natural thing in the world. "I hope you don't mind. Elio gave us a key so we could pick up the toy for Lewis. He's been so excited about it."

Lewis held up the robot with pure joy. "Look! Daddy Elio said this could be mine now. It's the coolest robot ever!"

The words hit me like physical blows. *Daddy Elio.* The robot that had protected my son from monsters was now in the hands of another child, another family.

"Where did you get that?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

Georgina's smile faltered slightly. "From Roy's room, of course. Elio thought Lewis would appreciate it more than keeping it locked away gathering dust." She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if Roy's memory was nothing more than clutter to be cleared out.

"That's my son's robot," I said, my voice growing stronger.

"Was," Georgina corrected gently, her tone patronizing. "Elio explained that Roy passed away. Such a tragedy. But surely you can see how much joy it's bringing Lewis now?"

Lewis, oblivious to the tension, made robot noises as he walked the toy across my coffee table—the same table where Roy used to eat his cereal while watching cartoons.

I stood frozen in my own doorway, watching a stranger's child play with my dead son's most precious possession in my own living room, while that child's mother spoke about Roy as if he were ancient history to be discarded.

The satisfied smile on Georgina's face told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't about Lewis's happiness. This was about erasing Roy completely, making room for her own family to take our place.

And Elio had handed her the key—literally and figuratively—to make it happen.

"That robot belongs to my son," I said, my voice trembling as I stepped into my own living room.

Lewis looked up from where he knelt on my carpet, Roy's robot clutched protectively against his chest. "But Daddy Elio gave it to me. He said it's mine now."

"Daddy Elio?" The words felt like shards of glass in my throat. I turned to Georgina, who was watching me with calculating eyes. "You've taught him to call my husband daddy?"

"Children need stability," Georgina said smoothly, rising from my couch with practiced grace. "Lewis has grown quite attached to Elio. Surely you can understand that?"

I couldn't breathe. This woman was sitting in my living room, speaking about my husband as if he belonged to her, while her child played with my dead son's most precious possession.

"Please," I whispered, kneeling down to Lewis's eye level. "That robot was very special to my little boy. He carried it everywhere. It was his favorite thing in the whole world."

Lewis's grip tightened on the toy. "But your little boy doesn't need it anymore. Daddy Elio said so. He said dead boys don't play with toys."

The casual cruelty of those words—spoken in a child's innocent voice but clearly coached by adults—nearly brought me to my knees. "Roy may be gone, but this robot is all I have left of him. Please, sweetheart, I need it back."

"No!" Lewis scrambled backward, clutching the robot tighter. "It's mine! Mommy said I could have it!"

Tears blurred my vision as I reached out gently. "I know you like it, but—"

"Lewis, come here," Georgina commanded sharply. "Don't let her take your toy."

I watched in horror as she pulled her son behind her, using him as a shield. "This is exactly what Elio warned me about," she said, her voice taking on a theatrical tremor. "Your obsession with the past is unhealthy, Camille. That poor child has been dead for years. You need to let go."

"Don't you dare tell me how to grieve my son," I said, standing slowly. "And don't you dare give away his belongings without asking me."

"Elio has every right to decide what happens to items in his own home," Georgina shot back. "He's moving forward with his life. Maybe you should try doing the same."

I moved toward Lewis again, my hands shaking. "Please, honey. Just let me hold it for a moment. I promise I won't—"

"Stay away from my son!" Georgina shrieked, grabbing Lewis and pulling him further back.

In the chaos, Lewis stumbled, his small hand still clutching Roy's robot while his other hand flailed for balance. I heard the metallic clink of something hitting the floor—craft scissors that had fallen from Georgina's purse during their retreat.

Lewis's foot caught on the coffee table leg. As he fell, his hand shot out instinctively, fingers closing around the scissors. I lunged forward to catch him, to prevent him from getting hurt.

The sharp blade sliced across my palm as our hands collided, Lewis's panicked grip driving the metal deep into my flesh. Pain shot up my arm as blood immediately began flowing, dripping onto Roy's robot still clutched in Lewis's other hand.

"Oh God," I gasped, cradling my injured hand against my chest.

"You attacked my child!" Georgina screamed, snatching Lewis away from me. "You're dangerous! You're completely unstable!"

"I was trying to help him," I said through gritted teeth, watching my blood stain the carpet—the same carpet where Roy used to build block towers. "He was falling."

"Liar!" Georgina's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "You tried to hurt him because you're jealous that he has what your son can't have anymore—a future!"

Lewis began crying, still holding Roy's robot, my blood now smeared across its silver surface. The sight of it—my blood on my son's most treasured possession—broke something fundamental inside me.

The front door slammed open, and Elio burst in, his face flushed from running. He took in the scene: me bleeding, Lewis crying, Georgina holding her son protectively.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"She attacked Lewis!" Georgina sobbed, pointing at me with a trembling finger. "She tried to take his robot and when he wouldn't give it up, she hurt him!"

Elio's eyes went cold as they fixed on me. "Camille, what did you do?"

"I didn't—" I started, but he was already moving toward Georgina and Lewis.

"Are you hurt, buddy?" Elio knelt down, checking Lewis over with gentle hands. "Did she hurt you?"

"She scared me," Lewis whimpered. "And she bled on my robot."

*Your robot.* The words echoed in my head as Elio pulled both Georgina and Lewis into a protective embrace.

"Apologize," Elio said, his voice hard as stone as he looked at me. "Apologize to Lewis for frightening him."

I stared at my husband—the man who had once promised to love and protect me—as he held another woman and her child while demanding I apologize for bleeding in my own home.

"You want me to apologize?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "For trying to save a piece of my son's memory?"

"Lewis needs that robot more than a ghost does," Elio said coldly. "Roy is gone, Camille. He's been gone for four years. It's time you accepted that and stopped making everyone miserable with your grief."

The words hit me like physical blows. In that moment, watching my husband comfort another woman's child while dismissing our son as nothing more than a ghost, I finally understood the truth.

I hadn't just lost my son four years ago.

I had lost my husband too.