Shadows of the Past

Fractured Memories

"Tommy! I said turn it off and go to bed!" his mother repeated, her tone more firm this time as she stood in the doorway with her fists on her hips.

"Five more minutes, please!" Tommy begged, his eyes glued to the screen. He grabbed another handful of popcorn, stuffing it into his mouth, oblivious to her rising frustration.

The cartoon character on the TV stumbled and fell with a goofy sound, causing the six year-old boy to burst into giggles, popcorn crumbs spilling onto the couch. His mother sighed, walking into the living room, her patience wearing thin.

"Thomas Andrew Sullivan, if you don't turn that TV off right now, there won't be any cartoons tomorrow!" she warned, leaning down to snatch the remote from the coffee table.

Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes as she pressed the power button. The screen went black, and the room fell silent.

His mother softened, kneeling beside him. "It's bedtime, honey. You need your rest."

Tommy pouted for a moment but then gave in, hopping off the couch. "Fine... But only because it's you."

Eleanor's smile vanished as soon as Tommy disappeared into his room. The weight of her decisions, the years of struggling to be both mother and father to her son, pressed down on her. She ran a tired hand through her brown hair, sighing deeply.

She had been so young—barely 18—when she found out she was pregnant with Thomas. The memory of that night with the man from the bar felt like a distant blur, a reckless choice made in a fleeting moment of youth. He hadn't stuck around, not until years later when he reappeared, claiming to want to be part of their lives.

But Eleanor knew better. The instability in his life was obvious from the start—unreliable, quick-tempered, and never able to hold down a job. She couldn't allow someone like that to be a father to Tommy. So, she'd cut him off completely, shutting the door on any chance of him trying to worm his way into their lives.

She walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as a dull ache settled in her chest. Sometimes she wondered if she'd made the right choice, denying Tommy the chance to know his father. But every time she pictured the man, unstable and unpredictable, she knew she had protected her son from heartbreak.

Thomas drifted off, clutching his favorite storybook about pirates and sea monsters, his small fingers tracing the edges of the worn pages. He'd hoped, as he always did, that his mother would come in and tuck him in with a goodnight kiss. She never missed a night—until tonight. That felt strange.

He stirred slightly in his sleep, half-expecting the soft creak of the floorboards and the comforting touch of her hand pulling the blanket up to his chin. But nothing came. The room remained quiet, save for the gentle hum of the night outside his window.

Over the past few days, his mom had been acting differently. Even though he was only six, Thomas was sharp enough to pick up on the change. Eleanor had seemed more distracted, her smiles less frequent and her eyes distant, as if she was always thinking about something else. He hadn't asked her about it, though. He figured it was probably just one of those "adult things" she sometimes talked about, the kind that didn't make sense to a kid like him.

But tonight, as he drifted further into sleep, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

The boy was startled awake by loud noises coming from the kitchen. Thomas sat up in his bed, blinking into the darkness. His favorite book, once clutched tightly in his hands, had fallen to the floor. His wide eyes scanned the room for any sign of a monster lurking in the shadows, but the steady thump of his heart pounding in his chest drowned out all other sounds.