It's not a quiet night. Within minutes in the early evening, dense, dark clouds tore apart, the warm weather shoved aside for flapping rain that grew more forceful in a short time.

I walk to the window, pulling back the curtain and sheer lace to peer outside. A gust of wind shifts soft hits of drizzle against the glass. After an hour of steady rain, this is good to see.

"I still don't think you need to go," Deb says as she approaches the window, her eyes straining to see through the lace.

"The rain has eased," I tell her.

I've been a little slow lately. There's been so much to do that I kept postponing the weekly grocery run, and we are low on food. I had every intention to follow through today, but the rain threw me off. I could have left after Jamie's bedtime, but he wanted us to watch videos of Nathan, and we watched them until the charge on my phone ran low.

"And you know how crabby Jamie gets without his nuggets. I can't deny we've spoiled him with that."

"He's your child and you're allowed. It's not that you overindulge him, anyway."

I grab my purse from the couch on my way to the coat rack by the door. "I guess. Do you need anything?"

"I think this trip should wait until tomorrow," she argues, "when the storm is actually gone."

I slip my arms through my jacket, wrapping a scarf around my neck. "Long hours tomorrow. I might as well just do it now."

She turns back to the window. "I can go tomorrow."

"I won't be long. Jamie's asleep and he won't notice I'm gone."

"Haley…"

Picking up my keys, I look at her and give her a quick smile. "I'll be careful. Thirty minutes, tops."

I don't wait for her to respond.

A circuit through a supermarket chain while pushing a full cart and four shopping bags later, I'm making my way back home. The drizzle has regressed to a torrential downpour, and I drive anxiously, and intentionally slowly and carefully; I don't plan on being inattentive when my son and my husband need me, just like I do them.

I love the rain, especially when Nathan and I are in the midst of it. We've had some wonderful moments in the rain, and the one that always stands out is the night he proposed. I honestly thought he was joking when he asked me to marry him.

"You're my family now, Haley. The true thing I have. I never want to lose you. What I'm feeling is definitely not normal and to be honest with you, I don't ever want to be normal. Not with you. I'll say it again, I could love you forever. Why can't forever start today?"

An ache builds in my chest. Everything just sucks right now. There's little I'm joyous about, and the elation comes and goes, doesn't seem to want to hang around for long. Do I sound bitter? Perhaps.

How can I not be bitter when I'm watching fathers drop off their sons at the preschool? How can I not be when I roll over in bed in the middle of the night only to find a cold, empty space? How can I not be when I see the look on my son's face when we visit his dad? How can I not be when I walk past couples at campus or down the street?

I opt to use a different direction with the multiple red dots ahead from brake lights. I want to be home if Jamie wakes.

He has been my tether, my tonic, the bright spot in my life. He has been sustaining me, making it alright for me, grounding me and reminding me that I should be braver in handling this curveball, not weepy and weak. I don't have the luxury of falling apart when he's relying on me to be the adult. I want to do what's best for him.

Sometimes I feel so lonely and alone, yet I'm not. I feel as though the prayers I'm constantly whispering go with the wind and don't reach the ears of the one who works miracles.

Our friends are not visiting as much as they used to. We call, text, email, they send flowers, but they don't come. I don't know if it's anxiety or losing hope that's part of keeping them away.

Deb comes when she can, when it's not too busy at the café or Tric, at least twice a month. Peyton has only been here once in the past month. Luke hasn't been back since Jamie's recital and short phone calls and emails are how we've been keeping in touch. None of us have heard from Brooke in ages.

I steer around a quiet curve. Traffic is non-existent here, this winding stretch of road a little creepy with the broken streetlights. There's only one car ahead of me in this wooded, sloped area, and it's a distance away. I hum along softly to the radio, an old-school ballad that's one of Nathan's favourite songs. I thought he wouldn't be caught dead listening to such music but after we got married, I discovered his guilty pleasure.

He was making breakfast one morning, and walking sleepily to the kitchen, I caught him crooning along with the radio, flipping pancakes and gyrating his hips. He was so stunned to see me standing behind the kitchen counter that he almost dropped the pan, a blush furiously making its way across his face when he realized that he'd been busted. It was just so sweet.

I'm thrown from memory lane to the actual lane when the car suddenly skids. My heart rate jumps.

This is a big problem. This is not the same rainless, starry night when I was out on a drive in the sticks and the car broke down. The weather is against me now.

Luke checked it out for me and ascertained that it had been fixed suitably. I'm hoping it's a fluke as I hold onto the wheel, my feet steady on the pedals.

Just when I think I've stabilized, the tyres are rolling fast over the wet tarmac. The car is deviating towards the edge, meandering from left to right. In my heightened panic, I look through the windshield for any oncoming high beams, and mercifully, the road is clear.

I'm trying to control the car as I frantically turn the steering wheel and decelerate, which does very little. I can't get it stable, and I'm losing control, and my wits, as it skids and shudders. It occurs to me with a very sick feeling that I could die on this road, out of an insensible stubbornness of not wanting to wait for tomorrow. I regret it. I want to hurl.

Flexing my shoulders, I force the horrific thought out of my head. With a determination and intent I didn't know I had, I brace myself for a battle with Mother Nature for a will to survive. I want to spare Jamie from the pain of losing one parent and the anguish of taking vigil at another's bedside. Just picturing their faces…

I feel strangely up to the mark to do this, squinting into the windshield, my body so cold like I'm sitting on an iceberg.

"Please, God, I don't want to die. I don't want to die," I hear myself say over and over again.

The car intermittently swerves and skids, both my hands steady on the wheel and fighting the traction. My gaze looks from the road to the dashboard and then back again. My leg hurts from pressing and releasing the brake pedal. In that concentration, I feel the car slowing and returning to the direct path. I don't waste a minute, pulling off the road and into the shoulder. I don't realize I'm screaming until I manage to barrel past one of the broken streetlights and avoid crashing into a bush.

I wrench the wheel to the right and brake hard. Finally, finally, the car comes to a complete stop, engine running.

I'm frozen in my seat, eyes focused ahead, panting so hard that I feel my lungs will burst like a weak balloon. The windshield wipers swish back and forth, the beams are pointed to the twigs and rocks on the ridge, a song I can't discern plays on, and my hands are pasty white around the steering wheel. The loud pounding of my heart is like a thousand drums beating around me.

I breathe in deeply, exhaling loudly and shakily. I'm in shock, the world is in slow motion, and a high-pitched noise starting to ring in my ears is making me feel so far removed from this situation. If the car hadn't stopped…If I had rammed into that lamppost…

The ifs reverberate through my head on repeat.

I've known what it's like to greet death when that train to New York went off the tracks, jerked me around and killed over half the passengers. I got that same feeling as the car pitched and its tyres spun.

It's a long while later that my shivering body is relaxed enough for me to loosen my hands from the steering wheel, which are getting slicker with sweat. I lift my head up slowly to look around, smoothing back my hair. Overcast sky, pounding rain, like it was minutes ago. And I'm still alive, though considerably faint.

Glowing headlights in the rear view mirror lower the volume of my reflections. I draw in a deep breath and run a hand over my face, watching the vehicle head my way.

The car edges forward, and a few yards from reaching me, it seems to slow down. I don't know whether it's the replaying drama in my drunken-like mind that makes me think the driver is going slower as he passes me. I'm almost certain that that's exactly how it happens, because the car picks up momentum when our front ends are aligned like he or she has stepped on the accelerator.

For some reason, a knot of nervousness forms in my stomach. Leave alone that it's raining heavily, the car moves too fast for me to tell if it's familiar. The sound of the engine is the only distinctive thing about it as its red taillights blur in my windshield. I chalk it up to a curious driver wondering what I'm up to.

"That's enough excitement for today," I wheeze to myself, rubbing my forehead.

Needless to say, I drive home the slowest I ever have.

Shivering and dripping water on the entrance hall, I drop the grocery bags to remove my wet jacket and scarf. There's a pain in my left leg, running all the way up to my knee, a dull ache that's a result of a dreadful incident. I only feel the stabbing discomfort when I've stood too long, sat too long, or in tonight's case, put enough effort on the pedals that the muscles were upset. Sometimes I have to pad my shoes with orthotic insoles to prevent more aching.

"Deb, it's crazy out there. A crazier thing happened on my way back and I think I need new tyres. I almost—"

"Mommy!"

I sweep the dampness from my forehead. Jamie is running to me and I step over the water puddle to scoop him up. My leg spasms, my next step coming with a slight limp.

"What are you doing up, mister?"

He wraps his arms tightly around my neck. Alarm sets in when I feel his small body shaking. Is he getting sick again?

"What's wrong? Are you cold?" I ask in worry while rubbing his slight back.

He buries his head between my shoulder and neck, his lips moving against my skin as he speaks. "I woke up and you were gone and I got scared 'cause of the thunder and I couldn't find you and Grandma said you went to the store and I got scared 'cause I don't want you to be hurt."

At once, a dreadful feeling creeps up on me. It's worsened by the thought of what could have been if I hadn't made it home.

"I'm safe. I'm not hurt. I'm sorry that I scared you."

I hug him tight, kissing the side of his face. He smells so sweet, the warmth of sleep and the light fragrance of his bath wash. "I'm here now."

Pulling my head back, I kiss his cheek and smile at him to ease his mind. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

"Can I sleep with you?"

Jamie sometimes sleeps with us when it's raining. Thunderstorms, especially, scare him.

"Of course."

There's a sudden loud rumble of thunder and he jolts, holding tighter onto my neck, his legs clenched around my waist.

"Come on. Back to bed."

Over by the couch as we pass, Deb nods ever so slightly.

"Will you tell me a story?"

I draw back the duvet and lay him on the bed. "Which one?"

"When I was little stories."

He curls into me when I pull the covers over us, his head resting on my shoulder. "Well, when you were a really little, teeny tiny, itty-bitty—"

"Mama."

I chuckle, my cheek rubbing lightly over his hair. My mind is drawn to a story that I've never told him before, and I can't think of anything else.

"When you were little, I got sick."

He raises his head and the images flash in my mind of that timeline of his life that I missed. I came back to find my baby teething, he had a head full of hair, and Nathan had already started him on solid food. I remember gently pressing the pad of my thumb to push down his bottom lip, and there in the sore lower gum I saw a tooth was emerging. I felt a loss at missing experiencing the milestones that would never be replicated.

"You got sick?"

"Yes. I was in the hospital for a long time and your dad was taking care of you," I tell him, my voice lowered.

"The hospital?"

I scoot back a little and turn to my side so that we're face-to-face, the sheets rustling with my movements. He's listening, and I wonder how much is appropriate to tell him. At a time like this, too much of the truth could raise his concerns.

"I was hurt and it was a long process until I got better," I say, trying to be evasive.

He wrinkles his small nose. When he's older, when Nathan is awake and well, I can tell him about those months in New Jersey. For now, the bare minimum will do.

"In that time," I rush in, knowing that he won't miss a thing and he'll ask me why I was hurt, "you would wake up every night and because I wasn't there to sing to you, your dad had to get you to sleep."

He perks up and declares frankly, "Daddy can't sing."

I laugh a little. "He didn't sing, but he played for you the special CD I'd made for you that had all the songs you liked."

"Did I sleep?"

"You did. He played the CD and carried you until you fell asleep."

"I did?" he asks with a look of wonder, and I can just imagine that he's trying to picture himself at that age.

"You did, and you know what your favourite song was?"

He's wearing a big grin. "Big Moon?"

I nod, then he says, "Where's it now?"

"The CD? I think it's in the closet."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds like he's considering it all. "Can I have it? We can play it for Daddy."

I shift over and hold him closer. "That would be a very nice thing to do for him."

In that lengthy pause, he's calm, his eyelids are growing heavy and his breathing is slowing. I read his face like I've never seen it before when I know it as well as I do my own. It makes me nostalgic for those early weeks when we brought him home from the hospital; I was so green that I worried every time I put him down for a nap, and I took to pulling the rocking chair by his crib, my hand by his arm to make sure I felt him stretch and writhe as he slept.

"I'm sleepy now, Mommy. Can you sing me Big Moon?"

After he falls asleep, I slide out of bed, not closing the door behind me. Deb has taken care of the groceries I left at the front door, and after I lock up, we sit on the couch watching TV and chatting about the mundane, each of us holding a glass of wine.

It's when I'm taking a shower that I feel something stirring in my mind. I slip into pyjama pants and Nathan's Dale sweatshirt, find my music notebook, walk past Jamie's sleeping form underneath the covers and sit on the pouffé across the room. As the rain splashes against the window, the pale glow of the bedside lamp offering light, I begin to write.