When I first saw the drawing, my heart sank. Red Xs slashed across my face in a child’s crayon scrawl. My fiancé’s son, Liam, had drawn it. I tried not to panic, but the image haunted me. Was this how he saw me? A threat? An enemy?
I’d been trying so hard to bond with Liam. He was quiet, reserved, and still grieving the loss of his mother. I knew I couldn’t replace her, but I hoped to be a gentle presence in his life. So when I saw that picture, I felt like I’d failed him.
I approached my fiancé, Mark, with the drawing. He looked stunned, then concerned. “Let’s talk to him,” he said. We sat Liam down gently, asking about the picture. He hesitated, then whispered, “It’s not you.”
Confused, I asked, “Then who is it?”
Liam pointed to the red Xs. “It’s the monster,” he said. “The one in my dreams.”
That’s when it clicked. Liam wasn’t drawing me—he was drawing his fear. The red Xs weren’t rejection. They were protection. A way to banish the monster that haunted him.
I felt a wave of relief—and guilt. I’d misread his pain as personal rejection. But Liam was trying to process something deeper. Trauma. Grief. Fear.
From that moment, everything changed. I stopped trying to “win” Liam over and started simply being there. We drew together. We talked about dreams and monsters. Slowly, the red Xs disappeared from his drawings. In their place were trees, stars, and smiling faces.
One day, he handed me a picture. It was of our family—me, Mark, and Liam—holding hands under a bright sun. No Xs. Just warmth.
That drawing meant more than any words could. It was Liam’s way of saying, “I see you. I trust you.”
