A woman gesturing towards the side | Source: Midjourney
I’d see other families, other dads laughing with their kids at the park, teaching them to ride bikes, showing up for school events. And I’d feel a sharp pang, a desperate longing for something I knew I could never have. A partnership. A shared load. Someone to lean on.
Tonight, I walked through the front door, forcing a smile onto my face, the teacher’s words still ringing in my ears. My daughter ran to me, a whirlwind of hugs and excited chatter about her day. I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair, the last vestiges of childhood innocence clinging to her.
A man holding a cup, sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
A man holding a cup, sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“Mommy,” she said, pulling back, her big eyes earnest. “Why can’t you come to Donuts with Dad? It would be so much fun. You’re always there for me.”
My heart broke a little more. Oh, my sweet girl.
Later, after she was asleep, I went into the living room. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the fish tank.
He was there, in his favorite armchair, just as I’d left him this morning. His head was slightly tilted, his eyes open, staring blankly ahead. He hadn’t moved an inch since I’d settled him there before work. He wouldn’t.
I sat on the coffee table opposite him, the silence deafening, broken only by the gentle gurgle of the filter. I looked at the man who was once my husband, the vibrant, laughing, strong man who held my hand through every challenge, who promised to fix everything, who promised to be there.
And now, this shell. This empty vessel.
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