Michael looked around our modest rental house.
It was smaller than the condo.
The furniture was simpler.
But it felt alive.
School drawings covered the refrigerator.
Shoes were scattered near the door.
A half-finished puzzle covered the dining table.
There were books everywhere.
Michael stood in the middle of the living room.
“You look happy.”
“I am getting there.”
He nodded.
Then Sophie ran downstairs.
“Dad, come see my tree!”
She pulled him toward the backyard.
He followed.
Lily remained on the sofa.
I sat beside her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
She looked toward the window.
“Why is he trying now?”
I chose my words carefully.
“Sometimes people understand what they had after they stop having it
every day.”
“That’s stupid.”
I almost smiled.
“It can be.”
“Will he leave again if he gets another baby?”
My heart broke.
“I don’t know what your dad will do in the future.”
“But I know his choices are not a measurement of your worth.”
She stared at me.
“Or Sophie’s.”
“Or Sophie’s.”
She nodded.
Outside, Michael was helping Sophie climb onto a low branch.
For once, his phone remained in his pocket.
That evening, we ate dinner together.
It was awkward.
It was also peaceful.
Michael asked the girls questions.
He listened to the answers.
When Sophie spilled water, he cleaned it up.
When Lily mentioned a school presentation, he wrote the date in his
calendar.
I noticed.
So did Lily.
Before leaving for his hotel, Michael stood near the front door.
“I’ll be back tomorrow at ten.”
Lily crossed her arms.
“Ten exactly?”
Michael looked at her.
“Yes.”
He arrived at 9:52.
That mattered more than the gifts.
Over the next several months, the Carrington family changed slowly.
Not magically.
Not perfectly.
Slowly.
Helen visited Vancouver.
She attended Sophie’s school performance.
Richard flew in for Lily’s birthday.
Monica mailed both girls handwritten letters.
Michael came every other weekend when work allowed.
When work did not allow, he rescheduled in advance.
Sometimes he still failed.
Sometimes old habits appeared.
But Lily stopped watching the clock quite as closely.
Sophie stopped asking whether he missed her.
One afternoon, nearly six months after the divorce, Michael and I sat on
a bench while the girls played nearby.
He looked older.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“I saw Sabrina last week,” he said.
