Thank you for your support of this story! I appreciate it so much. I've never written anything like this before, and it makes me super happy to hear that people agree I'm doing well and accurately. I hope you enjoy this chapter - more will come! By the way, the grammar mistakes in Jonah's dialogue are supposed to be there; you'll see why soon. please enjoy! :)


The amount of progress Jonah was making with the help of his autism support group was astounding. Now at three years old, he could make small sentences and identify objects on his own—occasionally he'd even ask Roger to teach him new words. The once silent little boy was now an academic sponge, soaking in all the information he could process. Roger was so proud—he almost wished his ex-wife was around to see how well he'd done with their child….And then he'd remember her blatantly saying that she'd never wanted a baby in the first place. Time after time, he found himself having to push these sorts of memories out of his head in order to stay positive and communicative with his son, who was increasingly having better and better days.

And then again, some days were not so good.

Today was one of those days. Jonah was refusing to eat his baby-food jar of sweet potato because he'd learned from some of the older autistic kids how to argue. Mary informed the parents that at a certain age, a child with autism would often become obsessed with things—it was nearly impossible for them to let it go. Jonah's new obsession was cookies. But not any kind of cookies. Very specific. They had to be sugar cookies with blue sprinkles on top. Nothing else. No red sprinkles, no chocolate chips. Just sugar cookies with blue sprinkles. So while Roger was learning better communication and teaching methods, Jonah was learning how to throw louder tantrums like the other kids to get what he wanted. Roger held the spoon up to the boy's lips. "Bite?" he suggested. Jonah turned his head. "Bite, Jonah? Bite for Dada?" The boy stubbornly crossed his arms. "No bite. Regnathlim." he babbled. "Jonah, use your words." Roger tried to encourage. Sometimes the boy had a language of his own—while his father was beginning to get used to and understand it, he didn't take that as a form of proper communication. Jonah just had to learn English. "Cookie." the boy said.

Roger chuckled. "No cookie until you take a bite." But Jonah didn't see this as fair, and he wasn't playing. He refused again and again to eat the sweet potato baby food. After a while, Roger became a little frustrated—the child was underweight anyway, and not feeding him healthy foods wasn't going to help his situation. Suddenly, Jonah wriggled out of his high-chair and stomped away from the kitchen. "Jonah? Come!" Roger called. But he hurried away into Roger's own bedroom. Sighing heavily, the man got up to follow him and see where his hunt for a cookie took him. A loud thump caused him to run a little quicker. "Jonah?" he asked into the room. Jonah had crawled into the closet and was chucking shoe by shoe out towards the door. "Hey, stop that. Come here, Jonah." Roger said, watching the odd behavior. But again, Jonah wasn't playing. He was really mad. He stood up, toddled over to the bedside table, and kicked it. He swatted the lamp off completely. Roger lunged to grab him before he got hurt, but he didn't get to his child soon enough.

Jonah picked up Roger's framed wedding photo and threw it forcefully against the wall.

The glass shattered everywhere. Roger's heart froze—time stopped. He didn't keep the picture up as a reminder of what had failed, he simply had it near him as an unidentified, inadvertent hope that maybe someday Samantha would realize her mistake and come back for him, come see all that he'd done for their baby. "Mama." Jonah huffed. Mama? Where'd he get that from? The other kids in the support group said it. But didn't he know what it meant—that he didn't actually have a mother? "No, Jonah," Roger gasped, breathless from his quick grab and the broken objects. "Dada." But Jonah didn't seem to like that answer, because he crossed his arms again and repeated himself.

"Mama."

"No, I'm Dada. There is no Mama."

"Tetymak Mama."

"Words, Jonah."

"Warren has a Mama."

"Lots of kids do…but you're special. You just have a Dada."

"…Want Mama."

The words chilled Roger—he'd never expected to hear something like this coming from his baby. Jonah practically grew up without a mother, what was the big fascination with it now? How could he miss something he never had? "B-But you have Dada, and that's good—"

"WANT MAMA!" Jonah screamed, kicking his feet. The crying commenced—they were headed for a full-blown tantrum now. Jonah screamed the same two words over and over again, wringing his hands, bawling, kicking, squirming. It wasn't until he reached his hand up and smacked Roger right across that face that his father got frustrated. Stunned after the blow, Roger watched his son writhe almost painfully on the ground as he begged for his mother. The fury built up in him. He couldn't control it—no matter how many days he'd spent in that god-forsaken asylum, they'd never be able to heal his quirks completely. He got down onto Jonah's level. "There is no Mama!" he shouted. "You'll never have a Mama! Never! I don't know why you are so intrigued by this—you've never had one and you never will! Get it through your head, Jonah!"

"Kids…has…mamas…!"

"But you don't, Jonah! And do you want to know why you don't?! It's because your Dada is bad—your Dada is sick! Mama didn't want to stay with Dada anymore because he's crazy, because he wanted a baby and she didn't, because he was nothing more than a prize in her life!"

"Gahbfopenv zajobr!"

"Mama was bad! Dada was bad! And you'd better be the one to turn out good in this god-forsaken family!"

"…Wjfuqeonl jakndgkjb ksjdbgso!"

Roger listened as Jonah babbled unintelligible things to him in his own little language, something that he understood but nobody, not even his own father, had a good enough grasp on. His heart was racing. Watching the poor little boy look at him with tear-filled eyes, seeing those wretched hands wringing endlessly, hearing the desperate screams….it all hurt too much. He couldn't do this. What was he thinking? Roger leaned close to Jonah, feeling himself sobbing along with his son. "You are my punishment," he whispered through gritted teeth. "You're my punishment for killing those kids, for not letting anyone in to help me when I needed it, for being who I was all those years ago. God gave me a son that can't talk to me, can't do anything himself. And He did it to show me how I was. How difficult I made things. This is you. This is you." Jonah was looking at his father directly and screaming in pure terror now. Sure he couldn't communicate well, but he could understand what some of Roger's words meant, and they were scary to him. Suddenly, Roger felt like something inside of him snapped painfully. He clutched at his chest, gasping through his sobs. Leaving Jonah sitting in the pile of glass and shoes, he ran through the house until he reached the kitchen and was able to dial on the phone.

"Jack?...I really, really need you."

Within minutes, Jack Merridew reported to the Campbell house as if he was a first-responder. He'd left work immediately to answer to his friend whom he found slumped against the hallway wall, sobbing endlessly as Jonah's piercing screams reverberated from the master bedroom. Jack knelt before the man, pulling his hands away from his face. "Roger?" he asked, quietly but with urgency. "Talk to me, dear. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me, Roger. Just breathe. Calm down, just calm down." he soothed, and finally Roger was coherent enough to simply point to the bedroom. When Jack walked in, he was stunned by the mess. "Jonah, what's going on?" he asked gently as he approached the screaming toddler.

"MAMA!"

Roger clung to Jack's arm weakly, still sobbing as he heard his child continuously shriek that one request. But Jack seemed to know what to do, as always. He was a leader. Once a leader, always a leader. He stepped carefully over the glass shards and picked the baby up by his underarms. He sat down on the bed with Jonah on his lap. The boy still cried endlessly. Roger watched from the doorframe as Jack rocked him back and forth, patiently waiting for the shrieks to die into wretched sobs. "Jonah, sweetie. Talk to me. Use words, tell me what's the matter." he gently eased. "M-Ma…Mama…!" he gasped out.

"What about Mama?"

"K-Kids…"

"More, more words."

"Kids…has…Mamas…"

"The other kids do? Well that's alright, Jonah. Don't be jealous of them because they have something you don't. Be happy that you have Dada. Dada loves you so, so much."

"Dada…bad…"

"No, Dada's not bad. Don't say that, darling."

"He…t-told me…"

"Well…how about I talk to Dada about that, ok? Did it make you scared? Sad?"

"Yes, yes."

"Let me tell you something. Dada's one of the greatest men out there. Do you like the doctor? Like Doctor Rodolphus? Well Dada is even better than him. Dada loves you with everything he is, alright? You'll understand that someday."

"W-Why…angry waknsnjb?"

"What did you say, dear?"

"Why Dada are angry with me?"

"No, no, no…he's not angry with you. Dada is angry at himself, and he shouldn't be. But he is. It hurts him—he hurts himself. You know how whenever you get a boo-boo? What does Dada do to make it all better?"

"Dada make bandage and kiss it."

"That's right, Jonah. Dada puts a bandage on your boo-boo and he kisses it to make it better. Sometimes you have to do that for him, ok? His boo-boos are on the inside though. But still, show him your love and that you care about him. It will make things better."

"Where is Mama?"

Jack looked up at his tearful friend. With a free hand, he motioned for Roger to sit with them and pick up the wedding picture. "See this picture?" Jack asked the boy. "Do you know who that is? Who is that?" He pointed to a slightly-younger Roger. "Dada!" Jonah giggled, hiccupping from his tears. "That's right, Jonah! And that lady right there is Mama."

"Mama…"

"But your Mama is in a picture. The other kids have their mamas with them, but you have a special version. Because this picture can stay with you all the time. You can take it to the park with you when you play, you can take it to Group, you can take it to sleep with you. But just know that your Mama is right there, alright? She won't ever be able to talk to you, but you know she's there. That's where Mama is."

Roger wiped his face with his sleeve. How did Jack know how to fix it? Feeling slightly jealous of his friend but majorly grateful, he reached out to stroke Jonah's hair. "Is that why you were so upset today?" he asked with a strained voice. "And you didn't know how to tell me?" Jonah looked up at him. His face was red and tear-tracked, much like his father's. "Didn't know how to say…" he admitted. Roger leaned forward, pulling the child into a big hug. Jonah clung to him tightly. Jack wrapped his arms around both. "Now Jonah, say you're sorry to Dada." he encouraged. "When you make a mess, you say you're sorry and help clean up." Jonah pulled back a bit. "I sorry Dada." he whimpered. Roger squeezed his tiny hands. "I'm sorry too, Jonah." The little boy wordlessly slid off of Jack's lap to pick up each of the shoes he'd thrown, lining them all up in a perfectly straight line by the wall.

Jack gently wiped his friend's face with his hands. "I-I'm sorry you had t-to intervene like that…" Roger whispered brokenly. Jack only hushed him. "No, no. Please don't be sorry. I have a ton of kids with more on the way—it's what I do. I'm supposed to be a father every minute of the day, whether the child is mine or not." he promised. Roger gasped a shaky breath. "I just didn't know what to do…" he moaned. Jack wrapped him into a hug. "It's alright, dear. It's alright. Group may tell you about the tantrums and teach you how to prevent it, but every child's different—and when that moment hits, it's just you and them. Don't worry, Roger. You'll get better at this. It's ok to ask for help."

"I…I said things to him….h-horrible things…"

"Darling, you don't know what he was saying when he wasn't speaking English. He could've been just as upset. You've got to leave it in the past and explain that sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. He'll be alright. He's not afraid of you or anything."

The two sat there for a long time until Roger was calm enough to stop crying and relax a bit. A long silence passed. Jack helped his friend stand up and gave him one last hug and reassurance before stepping out the door to go home. Roger went into the kitchen to clean up the abandoned baby food and maybe just give Jonah one of those cookies. As he rummaged in the pantry, he felt something sticky slap against his left forearm. He looked down.

Jonah was standing beside him, having just stuck a fresh bandage on his father's arm, looking up with those big blue eyes. He kissed the bandage gently. "All better, Dada. No more boo-boo." he murmured. Roger knelt down to be on-level with his son. He recalled what Jack had said about his boo-boos being on the inside, and he was extremely impressed that even during his fit Jonah still remembered that. He hugged his son again. "All better," he whispered. "Dada loves you very, very much."

"Jo-Jo love Dada back," Jonah often referred to himself this way, never really being able to say 'Jonah' for some reason. The pair stayed close together for a long time until Roger broke apart to hand his son one of his favorite cookies. Jonah happily accepted and bolted for the table as his father did the dishes. A few minutes later, Roger went back to the table after realizing he'd forgotten to pick up the jar of baby food.

Sitting on the table was an empty jar, a freshly-used spoon, and some cookie crumbs, all in a nice straight line.