Page 25 of The Space He Left
"You're right," I said, as I rejected Pete’s call. "Today is about you."
Madison's smile was radiant with relief. "Thank you, Jackie. You don't know what that means to me."
She'd ordered room service – my favorite Chinese food, the kind we used to share in high school after football games. She'd also rented several movies, romantic comedies from our teenage years that would take us back to simpler times.
"I thought we could have a night like we used to," she said, dimming the lights and patting the sofa beside her. "Just you and me, forgetting about everything else for a while."
It felt good to sit down, to let Madison curl up against my side under the soft hotel blanket. The stress of the last few weeks seemed to melt away as we settled in to watch the first movie, sharing lo mein and spring rolls like we had when we were teenagers.
"Remember when we watched this movie for the first time?" Madison asked during the credits of the second film. "You fell asleep during the wedding scene."
"I was exhausted from football practice," I protested, reaching for more popcorn.
"You were bored by the romance. I had to wake you up for the credits."
"I'm awake now."
Madison turned to look at me, her face serious despite the lightness of our conversation. "Are you happy, Jackie? Really happy?"
The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"With your life. Your marriage. Everything that happened after I left."
I thought about Harper. I thought about the business I was neglecting, the friends who thought I'd lost my mind, the mother who'd called to express her disappointment in my choices. Mrs. Finlayson, who thought I was having an affair.
"I'm happy," I said. Things may be messy and complicated right now, but I had a wife who loved me and a baby on the way. Pete would handle the business problems. Everything would be back to normal soon.
"Because you seem... different. Stressed. Like you're carrying the weight of the world."
"I'm just worried about you."
Madison reached up to touch my face. For a fraction of a second, I froze. The gesture was so reminiscent of the girl I'd known in high school that my body didn't know how to react. But I wasn't that boy anymore, and she wasn't that girl. I was a husband with a baby due in a couple of days, and I loved my wife.
I gently enclosed her hand in mine and pulled it away from my face. "Don't," I said, the word harsher than I intended.
She didn't seem to notice my discomfort. "You've always been such a caretaker. Always trying to save everyone."
"Someone has to," I replied, the words feeling hollow as I thought about Harper at home.
"But who takes care of you?"
The question hung in the air between us, and I found myself thinking about it seriously. Harper took care of me. She'd made our house a home, had created a life I loved coming back to every day. But lately, I'd been so focused on Madison's needs that I'd barely noticed what Harper was doing for me. I needed to fix that, starting tomorrow.
"Let's watch another one," Madison said, selecting the third movie. "I want this night to last as long as possible."
She settled back under the blanket. My phone sat on the side table, the outside world blocked out completely.
Madison fell asleep during the third movie, her breathing soft and even against my chest. I should have moved to the chair, should have put some distance between us, but she looked so peaceful, so trusting. After everything she'd been through, she deserved a night of uninterrupted rest.
I dozed fitfully, waking periodically to check on Madison to make sure she was comfortable. She stirred occasionally, murmuring my name in her sleep, her hand tightening on my shirt as if even unconsciously she was afraid I might leave.
I found myself thinking about the day ahead. Madison's surgery, the hours of waiting, the possibility of devastating news. I'd be there for all of it, her anchor in the storm of medical uncertainty.
What I didn't think about was Harper, alone in our house, timing contractions and wondering if her husband would answer his phone. I didn't think about Sam checking on her, about the worried looks of our neighbors, about the possibility that while I was sitting on a hotel sofa watching movies, my wife might be preparing to bring our daughter into the world without me.
I didn't think about any of it because my phone was silent, my world had narrowed to the woman sleeping in my arms, andI'd convinced myself that being there for Madison was the most important thing I could do.
It wasn't until much later that I would understand the true cost of that night. The price of choosing comfort over responsibility, nostalgia over duty, the familiar over the uncertain.
