Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

Why didn’t I leave the light on? It’s such a simple thing and I forgot, again. First thing in the morning I’m contacting someone to come and install lights that can be clicked on and off remotely.

I manage to open the front door with my elbow as my hands are full and we walk in, Clay staying in the doorway as I move over to the left to switch on all the lights.

“It’s okay now, bud,” I tell him, turning to face him with what I hope looks like a reassuring smile as the whole place illuminates with light. Holding my hand back out to him, he takes it and I adjust Izzie on my shoulder, making our way up the grand staircase.

I shiver as we walk up to the first floor, hating the coldness that emanates from the entryway. The white walls and marble floor are all for show, along with the intricate design that wraps around the black and gold railings that adorn the staircase.

Natalia hated it, she always wanted to have a wooden staircase installed and a warmer color on the walls, but I kept putting it off. Now I wish I would have said yes when she first asked instead of telling her to wait until her pregnancy with Izzie was over.

Another thing I should have done differently.

Once we get to the top of the staircase, we turn left toward Clayton and Izzie’s wing.

We get to Clay’s room first, his name in blue letters on the door with a plaque of a book.

I push the door open and say to him, “You get into your pajamas, bud, and I’ll be back once I’ve put Izzie down,” as I switch his main light on.

“Okay,” he whispers back, his eyes full of trepidation.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” I reassure him, hating that it’s my fault that he’s so scared right now.

He finally nods and I wait until he’s inside before I walk into the room opposite.

Izzie’s door has the same letters spelling her name, only hers are pink, sitting above a plaque with a princess riding a unicorn.

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and wait a couple of seconds before I move forward, aware that I could possibly trip over one of the thousand stuffed animals that she has in here.

I skirt around the tea party that she’s set up in the middle of the room and lay her down onto her bed, not bothering to change her clothes before I pull the covers over her.

I place a gentle kiss on her forehead and switch on her princess night light, illuminating the pink and purple walls with figures of princesses that adorn the outside of the light.

I walk back out, closing the door halfway behind me before crossing the hallway and stepping into Clay’s room.

My eyes settle on him sitting on the dark blue padded seat of his little reading nook in front of the window. He’s surrounded himself with all the pillows he has and is leaning against one of the many bookcases that incase him in his safe place.

There isn’t one spare space on his shelves, he has so many books and all of them are well read. Many of them are ones that Natalia passed down to him, and I think on some level, she knew he would be able to connect with her on those pages and inside the words.

He loves reading, even at the young age of eight he can surpass the reading that his peers do. He gets lost in the magic of another world for hours without realizing how much time has passed, and it often means that I have to pull him out of that world, telling him that it’s time to sleep.

“Dad?” he asks, his voice a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Could you read me the next chapter?” He holds out the old battered copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

I smile and nod as he jumps down from where he’s sitting and crosses over to his bed, lying down before pulling the covers up to his c

hin as he waits for me to come over.

I step closer and settle down next to him, opening the book up to chapter ten and starting to read out loud.

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep and once he has, I close the book and place it carefully on his nightstand before turning my head back to look at him. I sit and stare at him for several seconds, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes.

Sometimes I wonder whether it’s harder for Clay or Izzie. Clay got to meet his mother, spending three years with her before she was taken from us. Whereas Izzie; all she has are photographs of her.

“Look after my babies.”

Her soft voice rings in my ears as I allow myself to think about her, not able to stop my eyes from closing as I imagine that she’s here with us.