After filing his company for bankruptcy, Kyle's wife leaves him and his three-year-old son. Now a forty-two-year-old divorcee with no parenting skills or money, Kyle decides to move back to the small home town he grew up in.
He should have lost all...
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The roads on the rural path were bumpy, and Kyle's large Range Rover was still having problems navigating them. Sometimes the dips and rises were too low or high, and it would cause the car to jerk forward or backward. Kyle could handle it. He was fine, but Otis, his three-year-old son stuck in a carrier chair strapped to the back seat, couldn't.
Otis would cry himself to sleep when the roads were smoother and would jerk awake and start crying when the roads weren't. As Kyle drove in the dim light of the evening, Otis switched from sleeping to yelling at the top of his voice. Kyle couldn't do anything about it. They had to make it to Newfront before the end of the day, and he wasn't going to stop the car to address the toddler's crying.
"Shut up. Just shut up," Kyle groaned, looking at his son through the driver's mirror. The child's face was wet with tears, and his usually pale face was bright red from crying. "Shut up!" Kyle yelled, pulling the gear on break. The sudden stop made the child pause and stare at his frustrated father.
Kyle didn't like yelling, but he got anxious and confused whenever Otis cried.
He didn't know what he was doing. He was never responsible for Otis before, and he never had younger siblings to care for. He was just winging it and was failing. Failing terribly.
Jesus Christ, why didn't she take the kid? Kyle asked himself as he turned away and started up the car again. A month ago, he and his son lived in the suburbs of California with his now ex-wife. If someone had told Kyle at the start of the year that his bank account would read less than four figures, and that he would be closing his automobile business, he would have laughed at them in the face. Problems had started to show themselves in August of the last year. The costs had started to exceed the revenue for running his chain of stores, but Kyle hadn't been bothered. Sometimes business was bad, but things would usually self-correct with time. In this case, they never did. Month in, month out, his profits were in the negatives, and he was advised to call it quits and file for bankruptcy before he would be too far gone and would be forced to pay the debts he possibly couldn't.
Filing for bankruptcy was supposed to be the end of a chapter that Kyle wanted to put behind him, but then his wife, Anastasia had walked into the living room with one hand on her hip, and the other gripping a file.
"I want a divorce," she had said in a calm tone that sent chills through Kyle's spine.
The young man dropped the mug of coffee in his hands to look up at her. His wife had light brown hair and deep-set hazel eyes. She looked nothing like their son. Otis mostly took after his father with his dirty blond hair and his pale skin that easily reddened.
"Why?" Kyle had asked, looking into his wife's face. Her thin brows were drawn together in a frown, and her sore attitude didn't match the peachy appearance she had in her flowery gown and bright makeup.
