Page 64 of The Space He Left
Gift opening was delightful chaos. Emma was more interested in the wrapping paper than most of the actual presents, delighting in the crinkly sounds and bright colors. She received books, toys, clothes, and a small mountain of stuffed animals from our coordinated shopping trip, family, and friends.
"There's one more," Jack said as the pile of opened gifts grew smaller. He reached behind the couch and pulled out a carefully wrapped package that was much larger than anything else.
"What's this?" I asked. "We didn't discuss anything this big."
"It's a special project I've been working on. I wanted it to be a surprise."
Emma immediately wanted to climb on the wrapped gift, so Jack carefully helped her tear away the paper. When the wrapping fell away, I gasped.
It was a rocking horse, but not the cheap plastic kind from toy stores. This was handmade, crafted from beautiful honey-colored wood and painted with delicate flowers and Emma's name in flowing script. The craftsmanship was exquisite – smooth curves, perfect joints, a design that was both sturdy and elegant.
"Jack," I breathed. "Did you make this?"
"Dad helped me with some of the finer details, but yeah. I've been working on it after hours at the office, using the woodworking tools there." He looked almost embarrassed. "I wanted to give her something that would last, something she could have forever."
Jack carefully helped her sit on it, showing her how to rock gently back and forth. She squealed with delight, her whole face lighting up with joy.
"It's beautiful," I said. "She loves it."
"I hope she'll still have it when she's older. Maybe she'll remember that her dad made it for her first birthday."
The wistfulness in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't a man confident in his place in his daughter's life. This was someone who understood that he'd lost something precious and was working hard to earn back even a small piece of it.
As the party wound down and guests began to leave, Jack automatically helped with the cleanup. He stacked chairs, washed dishes, and packed away leftover cake, but I noticed he was careful not to assume anything. He asked before putting things away, deferred to my preferences about where things belonged.
"Thank you for today," I said as we worked together to restore the living room to its normal state. "The planning, the presents, everything. It meant a lot."
"Thank you for including me. I know it would have been easier to celebrate without me here."
"Jack, you're Emma's father. Of course, you should be at her birthday party." I paused in folding the tablecloth. "Besides, we did good work together today."
"We did," he replied with a grin.
Both sets of grandparents began making their excuses about being tired, needing to leave, but their departure felt coordinated in a way that suggested they'd discussed leaving us alone.
"See you tomorrow," Jack's mother said, hugging me. "Wonderful party, dear."
And then it was just the three of us – Jack, Emma, and me – alone in the house.
Emma was getting cranky, overtired from the excitement and overstimulation of the party. I moved through her bedtime routine while Jack watched, unsure of his role but unwilling to leave while we were still happy to have him with us.
"Want to help?" I asked as I gathered Emma's pajamas.
"Love to." There was that grin again.
We went up to the nursery together, the room Jack had helped paint and furnish before everything fell apart. Emma's crib was exactly where we'd placed it, but the room was fuller now – toys and books and clothes that spoke of a child who was loved and cared for.
I handed Emma to Jack, and he read her a story while I watched them. Then we both sat with her as she grew drowsy, Jack talking softly to Emma, responding to her babbled comments.
"Sleep tight, beautiful girl," Jack whispered as we placed her in her crib. "Happy birthday."
Emma settled immediately, her breathing evening out as sleep claimed her. Jack and I stood there for a moment, watching her, and I felt the weight of everything we'd shared today – the planning, the party, the glimpse of what we could be as parents working together.
Downstairs, the house felt different with just the two of us. The easy camaraderie of party planning and celebration was gone, replaced by the heavy awareness of everything unsaid between us.
Jack stood uncertainly by the door, clearly preparing to leave, to give me the space he'd been maintaining for months. His keys were in his hand, his jacket already on.
I looked at this man who'd devastated my life and then spent the last year quietly working to repair what damage he could. I thought about the collaborative planning, the way he'd helped today without overstepping, the rocking horse he'd spent months crafting in secret. I thought about Emma's joy at having both parents there, about the glimpses of the man I'd married that I'd seen throughout the day.
