Page 57 of The Space He Left
I thought of the summer he'd volunteered to lead the community build for the new Willow Creek playground. He'd put in a full day at Henderson Construction and then spent his evenings there, covered in sawdust and sweat, laughing with the other volunteers. That heroism came with public gratitude - a photo in the Willowbrook Gazette, the mayor shaking his hand, neighbors stopping us in the grocery store to say, "Your Jack is a saint." It was a part of him I had loved.
"The groceries today had teething gel in them. How did you know Emma was having trouble with her molars?"
Jack's face softened. "She was fussier than usual during my last visit. I could see the swelling in her gums. I asked my mom what helped when I was teething, and she suggested the gel."
The casual way he'd noticed Emma's discomfort and taken steps to help, even though he wouldn't be the one using the remedy, touched something in my chest I'd been trying to keep protected.
"Jack..."
"I'm not doing this to manipulate you or to earn points toward forgiveness," he said quickly. "I'm doing it because it's right. Because Emma is my daughter and you're..." He paused. "Because you're still my family, even if you don't want to be."
"I never said I didn't want to be your family." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I saw hope flicker across Jack's face before he carefully controlled his expression.
"I know this doesn't fix anything," he said. "I know paying for groceries doesn't make up for missing Emma's birth or destroying your trust. But it's what I can do right now."
"It helps," I admitted. "More than you know. But Jack, I'd rather you just asked if I needed help instead of guessing and doing things secretly."
"I was afraid you'd say no."
"I might have. But I also might have said yes. You'll never know if you don't give me the choice."
Jack nodded slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry. I was trying to respect your boundaries, but I should have found a way to ask first."
It was exactly the kind of insight that suggested Jack was learning from the therapy his Mom told me he's booked before Emma and I even got home from the hospital. The old Jack might have gotten defensive or argued that his intentions were good. This Jack was examining his patterns and motivations, acknowledging the problem and taking responsibility for it.
"How are you doing?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. "Really doing, not just the polite version."
Jack considered the question seriously. "Better than I was. Not as good as I want to be. Therapy is hard, but it's helping. The business is recovering. I'm learning to be alone with my thoughts without needing to fix someone else's problems to feel valuable."
"How does it feel being a father?"
"Like the most important thing I've ever done. Also, like the thing I'm most afraid of screwing up." Jack's voice was soft, honest. "She's perfect, Harps. Every time I see her, I'm amazed that we created something so beautiful. And every time I leave her, I'm reminded of everything I messed up."
Emma chose that moment to wake up from her car seat nap, looking around with bright, curious eyes. When she saw Jack through the window, she started babbling and reaching toward him.
"Hey, beautiful girl," Jack said, his whole face lighting up. "Were you good for Mama at the doctor?"
I watched as his face clouded over. "I am so sorry I missed the appointment. I called the clinic the second the inspector left, told them I was on my way, but the receptionist said you were just finishing up. She said you'd be gone by the time I got there."
"It's okay, Jack. I understood."
"Still," he said, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I hated not being there." He looked back up. "So, everything good? How did it go?"
"She was perfect. Dr. Sanderson says she's developing exactly as she should." I paused, making a decision. "Do you want to know what she said about the next stage? The walking and talking milestones?"
"Tell me everything."
So I told him about the appointment, about Emma's progress, and what to expect in the coming months. Jack listened with complete attention, asking thoughtful questions, clearly absorbing every detail about his daughter's development.
"Thank you," he said when I finished. "For sharing that with me here. You could have just sent me a message in the app."
I gave a small shrug, a silent acknowledgment that I was breaking my own rule. The truth was, the app was a shield, andthis was me peeking out from behind it. It was a test. "You had a right to know everything, not just the highlights."
There was a comfortable silence for a moment, Emma babbling happily between us. It was the longest conversation Jack and I had had since the morning after Emma’s birth when he’d come to the hospital, and it felt... normal. Like two parents discussing their child, rather than two adversaries managing a difficult situation.
"I should let you get home," Jack said finally. "Thank you for not being angry about the groceries and everything. I'll ask next time."
"Thank you for telling me the truth when I asked."
