Emilia 

Not even the bright blooms of late spring can quell the sinking feeling in my gut. While their questions come less often now, answering is as painful today as it was back then. Even harder is coming up with answers I can live with since, at 6 and 4 years old, they understand the difference between truth and lies. The belief that honesty is the best policy is a lesson I work hard to teach and what I strive to give them always, except when it comes to this. So instead, I do what comes so naturally now. I evade and settle on a half-truth.

“I don’t think daddy will be home by then Lyssie Baby, but Uncle Ben said he would take you, remember?”

Through the rear-view mirror, I search Alyssa’s expression for a sign, anything to indicate what she’s thinking. Though she attempts to look unfazed, it breaks my heart when a hint of sadness appears on her sweet face. With her attention focused on the passing scene outside her window, I take a moment to check on her little sister sitting next to her on the passenger side. Mallory is quieter than her extroverted big sister, so she’s the one I often worry about the most.

“Mally Baby. You doing okay?”

A nod is all she gives me, but as her mother, I can read what’s underneath. Right now, she’s okay. I guess given her age and how little she remembers of her dad, the significance of a father-daughter dance doesn’t register for her. But for Lyssie, she remembers, and it’s clear that now more than ever she’s feeling her father’s absence. Just finishing kindergarten, this first father-daughter dance is a big deal to her. Much bigger than I anticipated, the situation made worse since all her friends are being escorted by their fathers. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her upset over Creed’s absence, but I’m guessing this is a fresh reminder of what she’s missing.

It both breaks my heart and fills me with rage. Not only am I furious with her father, but with the school. I mean, a father-daughter dance? How could they host such an event when they know not every child has a father who can take them? It’s a cruel thing for an elementary school to do and is yet another way they are failing kids like her—those who don’t fit the standard mold—reminding them of yet another way they don’t fit in.

“What do you say we have Grammy over for dinner tonight? That way, we can show her your pretty dress. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Still focused on the scene outside, she gives a sad shrug. It’s hard to describe the pain a mother feels when she can’t protect her child from life’s hurts. Everything in me wants to hold her close and fill her up with all my love until she doesn’t need it from anyone else, but that’s not the way it works. I can’t fix this for her. All I can do is hold her hand and love her through her pain. A process made more difficult since I’m still struggling to work through my own.

Pulling up to the school’s drop-off line, we park to wait our turn. Since the school year started, there hasn’t been a day where my spunky Alyssa hasn’t bounced in her seat in anticipation of the bell ringing so she can run inside. But today she’s pensive. Quietly sitting. Just watching and waiting. It hurts my heart to see.

“Hey, Lyssie…” I turn in my seat and wait for those forest green eyes, identical to my husband’s, to turn their attention to me. “If Daddy could, I know he’d give anything to go to that dance with you. He wouldn’t miss such an important occasion if he had a choice. He loves you. Always remember that.”

“I know mama.” The small smile that crosses her face offers some relief.

While I may not be able to take her pain away, I can offer reassurance that her daddy’s absence has nothing to do with how much he loves her. Even as his last words re-play in my mind, I refuse to believe this life we created didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me. I know with certainty that he loved our girls, especially as it was their entrance into our lives that drove him deeper into his work. They were the catalyst that further fueled his obsession with seeking justice. It’s the one thing I’ve held onto since he left, that it was his love for our daughters that led him to choose the path he did.

Watching her exit the car, I’m awed by how much she has grown. When Creed left, she was in preschool, still wearing pull-ups to bed at night, and was just learning to pedal her tricycle. Now she rides a bike without training wheels, and in a few short months will be off to the First Grade. The only sure thing in my life right now is that time is moving on without him.

Turning my attention to the other girl who owns my heart, I ask, “Okay Mally baby, are you ready for school?” Though she doesn’t outwardly match my level of excitement, the twinkle in her eyes, as she nods, confirms she’s ready to go. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The 20-minute ride to daycare after dropping Alyssa off is our time to check in. It’s why I’m not surprised to hear her call out to me a few minutes after pulling away from the school.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Mally Baby?”

“When I go to big girl school, will daddy come to my dance?”

“I’m sure if he can, he will.” I meet her gaze through the rearview mirror, hoping she doesn’t catch the uncertainty in my voice.

After a moment of silence, she asks, “Is my daddy in heaven?”

I can’t help the gasp that leaves my lips as her quiet words thunder through my ears. Shocked by her question, I take a few seconds to think. 

There’s no way they know, right? Have I said anything to make them think…?

“No baby,” I somehow manage to spit out. “Why are you asking?” The shrillness of my voice sounds foreign in my ears, as with shaky hands I grip the steering wheel and will myself to keep us safely on the road.

“Trinity’s Grandma died, so she doesn’t see her anymore. I don’t get to see my dad either, so I think he’s in heaven too.”

Her little voice, so sweet and innocent, holds no sadness or concern. It’s as if she’s talking about something as mundane as the color of the sky. For me though, the words churn like acid, poking at the dark thoughts that keep me awake at night. As I quickly swipe at the moisture building around my eyes, I plant a calm smile on my face and pray she doesn’t notice.

“You’ve seen Daddy, just not since you were a baby. But I’ve shown you the pictures where he’s holding you, remember? He’s not in heaven, he’s away doing his job and making the world safe.” I tell her with certainty while praying what I’ve said isn’t a lie. For the rest of our ride, she doesn’t say much more. By the time I drop her off and turn toward home, the pressure in my head is like a dam about to burst.

When Creed walked out on me three years ago, I never imagined things would turn out like this. My biggest fear at the time was that he meant what he said, that he’d move on with his life, forget us, and never return. But this? This is a fate far worse, because now I may never know the truth. Never know if he would have come back to our home, to our lives, or our children. Never did I think he’d vanish this way, leaving our entire existence and any hope of reconciliation in a perpetual state of uncertainty.

Pulling into our neighborhood, I note the beautiful cape-cod-style homes that line our street. It’s a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood with small, quaint homes that back into wooded lots. When we first saw our home all those years ago, we knew this was where we would raise our family. It was love at first sight, and we put in our offer even before stepping inside.

With its bright yellow shutters and door, which contrast beautifully against the backdrop of the dark blue siding, this is where we built our life. It’s where Creed proposed that same day we put in the offer to buy it. It’s where we lived as we planned our wedding and got married. Where we found out we were pregnant, and then welcomed home our babies. This place represents everything that is us, our past, our present, and at one time, our future. A future that with every day that passes, looks all the bleaker.

Anger. Sadness. Fear. They swirl within me, boiling over and demanding release. Alone and parked in my driveway, I finally let go. The racking sobs rush through me while I cling to the steering wheel for support. White knuckles holding on for dear life like it’s the only thing preventing me from slipping away into the gloom that calls to me. So many nights I’ve laid awake, wondering where it all went wrong. Asking myself what more I could have done to fight for the man who promised me the perfect family.   

A part of me wishes I could leave this place in search of him, to at the very least, find the answers no one’s been able to give me. But I can’t. I know it in my heart, for without me, the girls would have yet another person whose absence to grieve. I won’t do that to them. They are the reason I get up every day determined to provide the stability they so desperately need. All the while growing more resentful of him since leaving was his choice. He left us to fend for ourselves. He abandoned us and left me to pick up the shattered pieces of the life he claimed to no longer want.

The soft leather under my fingers serves its purpose and brings me back into the moment. The new car smell, though faded, still lingers in the air, taking me back to the day we purchased it. This car has seen its fair share of my breakdowns over the past three years, maybe because it was his last meaningful gift to us.

As he planned to leave for this last assignment, it mattered to him we had a new, safe, and reliable mode of transportation while he was gone. That was a few months before he served me with divorce papers. That he was concerned enough to buy us a car proves that, regardless of his words and his presumed actions, he wouldn’t abandon us this way. It’s why I believe there must be a reasonable explanation for everything that’s happened. Something I cannot yet see.

Desperate to move past my grief, I dig through my purse in search of my phone. While I can’t change that Creed won’t be at that dance, I can still make the day special for Alyssa.

“Emilia, what is it?” Mom answers on the third ring. As usual, her clipped tone stings. You would think after years of dealing with her indifference, I’d be used to it by now.

“I was wondering if you had time to stop by for dinner tonight. Just you, me, and the girls. Like a girl’s night.” I tell her, hoping she gets the hint to leave her husband at home.

“A girl’s night? I don’t know if I can do that. You know Harold hates to be without me. Is there a reason he can’t come?”

Not even a minute into the call, and I’m already regretting it. With a calming breath, I try to come up with a suitable response. One that won’t open me up to her negative commentary on my life choices, while providing a good excuse for Harold to stay home.

“It’s up to him, I guess. Alyssa and I were going over the plans for her school dance and I told her I’d ask you to come over so she could show you her dress. Not sure it’s something Harold would be interested in.”

“No, you’re right. I have some leftovers in the fridge I could warm up for him before I go,” she says out loud, though the words aren’t meant for me. “You know, Harold could take her to that dance. He is her Pop-Pop, after all.”

“That’s okay. Ben’s got it covered.”

“Hmm. Well, it would have been nice if you’d asked Harold first.” I roll my eyes at her comment, opting to let it go since there’s no point in debating her husband’s role in my children’s lives. “Any update on that husband of yours?” she asks.

“No updates,” I answer casually, hoping she doesn’t pick up on my half-truth. Reaching for my purse, I pull on the door handle and step out of the car so I can make my way inside. “He’s on another case, so we’ve had little time to talk.”

Mom goes silent and I can almost hear her brain picking apart what I’ve said. Preparing for another round of harsh criticism, I instinctively fortify my internal defenses.

Sliding the key into the front door, I listen for the soft click of the latch as it welcomes me inside. The sanctuary that once offered warm comfort now feels more like a cage. The walls and roof trap me in a perpetual state of limbo, stuck somewhere between the present and the past.

“You know what I don’t understand? How much longer are you going to let this go on? By letting that man shirk his responsibilities, he’s making you look like a fool.”

Her judgmental words rile my anger, and I swear, I do try to take a breath and stop myself from saying something I’ll regret. But after the crappy morning I’ve had… 

“My husband is out there risking his life. He’s out there enduring a subpar existence, taking on the vilest evil, so the rest of us can go on living in our safe, happy little worlds. How dare you imply he’s some… some deadbeat running away when the very foundation of his career is based on responsibility and fighting for the greater good? You, of all people, have no right to judge him. Or us, for that matter. There’s no way you could understand the sacrifices we’ve made to get to this point.” I snap, hating how my voice shakes with emotion since it’s just the reaction she was hoping for.

Making me hurt. Watching me break. It gives her a sick sense of satisfaction, which serves only to embolden her.

“Sacrifice!” she scoffs. “Oh darling, I know all about sacrifice. I spent most of my life sacrificing myself for you and your no-good father…”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, knowing if I let this escalate, we’ll reach a point neither of us can come back from. “I think it’s best we hang up now. Don’t worry about dinner tonight. I’ll make other arrangements.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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