Luke Hartwick

I kept knocking on his door, but it was locked and he wasn’t replying. But he doesn’t usually lock his bedroom door when he leaves…

That excitement is what helped me to skip over all of the disclaimers in the contract that Dr. Phelps put before me. Since that day, I’ve re-read the contract a hundred times, sick at the thought of what I overlooked.

When Caden’s teacher asked me to come in for a parent-teacher conference, I figured she was going to sing his praises as a self-reliant, good kid. But instead, she just gestured for me to sit in a tiny, plastic chair and proceeded to lay a spiral notebook on the desk in front of me, without saying a word.

Serial Monogamist (noun): One who spends as little time as possible being single, moving from the end of one relationship to the beginning of a new relationship as quickly as possible.

All I wanted was one perfect Thanksgiving with my wife and kids, like the kind we used to have when I was little. Before cell phones and computers, we used to sit around, drink hot cider and really talk. To be fair, it wasn’t always pleasant and loving, but at least it was real.

The wind suddenly picked up, bringing with it a few snowflakes. The first of the year.

The realization was like a knife in my chest. We used to always get into mysteries with each other when we were younger. If I was there, I would absolutely have gone with them. But then what?

I felt like I had this reasonable parenting thing down…until I saw what was on his browser history. Then I lost it.

I won’t blame you if you think this is fiction.

I was no nearer a decision than when I first set out from our apartment.

“It’s still there,” he whimpered. “It’s not afraid of you, dad.”

“Daddy likes to drink,” she tells her doll. “And I like to pour him drinks.”

They told me I had a hernia at first.

I looked up and found a picture of myself from five years ago pinned to a Missing Persons board.

Being the new kid in school sucks. I thought by now I would have been used to it, because of all the moving my family has done over the years. But I guess there is no getting used to the stares and the condescending curiosities. Sometimes I wonder if they know my secret. Can they tell just by looking at me?

They told us we were special.

My girlfriend of five years broke up with me one day because she said she couldn’t deal with how much of a slob I was.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he said one day when we were walking home from the bus stop. “About the ánt’įįhnii.”