Chapter 10 - The Chair Outside —
I typed, I’m her father.
Then I deleted it.
I typed, You can’t shut me out.
Deleted that, too.
Finally, I wrote:
I understand this is your decision. Tell me what you need me to do.
I stared at the message before sending it.
Understanding was not the same as liking.
I hated the thought of missing our daughter’s birth.
I hated it enough that I finally began to understand how Emma might have felt attending appointments alone, sitting through classes alone, coming home to reheated dinner and another promise.
Three days later, I met the counselor Emma had seen before Christmas.
I went alone.
The office had a gray couch and a clock I could hear too clearly.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“My wife left.”
“And what would you like help with?”
“Getting her back.”
She waited.
I shifted in my chair.
“That sounded bad.”
“It sounded honest.”
“I hurt her.”
“How?”
I told her about Christmas Eve. The unanswered calls. Rachel. The money.
When I finished, I said, “I’m not usually this kind of person.”
“What kind?”
“The kind who abandons his family.”
She folded her hands.
“Would Emma agree that this began on Christmas Eve?”
I looked away.
“No.”
We sat with that.
Then the counselor asked, “What happens when someone you love is disappointed in you?”
“I try to fix it.”
“How?”
“Explain what happened. Tell them what I meant.”
“And if they’re still disappointed?”
I rubbed my palms against my knees.
“I get frustrated.”
“Because?”
The answer came before I could polish it.
“Because I’m trying.”
She nodded once.
“Trying to change the impact, or trying to end the discomfort of hearing about it?”
I left that office without feeling better.
For once, I suspected that was useful.
Outside, my phone showed three missed calls from work and a message from Rachel.
I hope things are improving. Call if you need to talk.
I stood beside my car and answered her in writing.
I need to focus on my marriage and becoming a reliable father. I can’t keep being your main source of support. I’m sorry I let that become our pattern.
She replied twenty minutes later.
I understand. I’m sorry for my part in it.
I didn’t send the exchange to Emma.
It wasn’t a receipt I could redeem for trust.
That evening, Emma called.
Her voice was controlled, but thinner than usual.
May you like
“I need to go back to the hospital.”
I was already reaching for my keys.
