“Daddy, what you drawing?” seven year old Audra asked, appearing suddenly over his shoulder.
“Haven’t decided yet, what do you think I should draw?” Logan murmured in return.
“I think you should draw... me, being a ballerina,” his daughter announced, rolling over the back of the couch to land upside down beside him.
“You want to be a ballerina now?” Logan asked with a chuckle. The little girl had spent the last month trying to convince him to teach her how to drive, so she could be a race car driver.
“Nah uh, I’m going to be a superhero, like mommy,” Audra replied.
“What about like me, I’m a superhero too,” Logan pouted exaggeratedly.
“But you’re a boy, I can’t be a boy, so I have to be a girl superhero, like mommy,” Audra explained, with a roll of her eyes and an impatient sigh.
“Alright, fair enough, I’ll give you that one,” Logan replied with a chuckle. “So, if you’re a ballerina superhero, what powers will you have?” he asked, as he placed pencil to paper.
As Audra chattered away happily, Logan drew, weaving together a fictitious reality to entertain the youngster. When it was finally finished Audra giggled happily, before running off to show mommy the tutu-clad superhero, flying through a battle-scape, with claws, and sprinkling fairy dust that ignited into fire, that now adorned the page.
Logan had just settled back, enjoying the few moments peace he was now surrounded by, when Oliver stormed into the room, looking furious.
“What’s up?” Logan asked worriedly, as his sons bone claws erupted from his closed fists.
Ollie didn’t reply with words, instead he punched the now closed door as hard as he could, as he roared. Though the claws disappeared before they could make contact with the wood, his fist still left a sizable dent in the surface. Oliver didn’t seem to notice though, as he slumped against the door. A moment later Logan, who was watching his sons outburst in mild amusement as he wondered who had so epically pissed him off, noticed a shudder in his shoulders, before he slid to the ground and began to sob.
“What happened?” Logan demanded, suddenly realizing this was worse than just a bust up among friends.
It took Oliver several minutes before he could raise his now tears stained face to look at him, his emotion clogged voice coming out in barely a whisper.
“She killed it...” was all he said.
“What!?” Logan demanded, immediate dread settling in the pit of his stomach as his brain refused to make the connection between Ollie’s statement now, and his ecstatic, though unexpected, news the week before.
“She said the time wasn’t right... so she had an abortion,” Oliver stated flatly. “She didn’t even ask me, she just killed my fucking kid, because it wasn’t convenient... how could she do that!?” he demanded, sorrow and anger warring for dominant position in his tone.
“Shit... I’m so sorry kid,” Logan murmured, sitting down next to his son, hugging him when he threw himself at him and sobbed. That was how Marie and Audra found them an hour later.
Later that night, after Oliver had retreated to his old bedroom, refusing to return to the room he shared with his girlfriend, Logan stared down at the incomplete drawing in his book. With a sigh, he removed the page. He couldn’t complete it, the child it was drawn for, his grandchild, was no more. He couldn’t throw it away though, he couldn’t abandon the memory of the child that could have been. Tucking it away with the rest, Logan closed the box in resignation, before heading to bed himself.
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