Page 36 of The Space He Left
"Can I...?" I asked, gesturing tentatively toward the baby.
Without a word, she shifted Emma and held her out to me. This time, my hands were steadier, but the feeling was no less overwhelming. Emma's eyes were open, a deep, hazy blue. She stared up at me, and I felt a fresh wave of tears burn behind my own.
"Hey, sweet girl," I whispered. "It's Daddy." I held her for a few minutes, soaking in every detail: the dusting of dark hair, the tiny button nose that was a perfect copy of Harper's. The ache in my chest was a physical thing, a constant reminder of the moments I could never get back. Finally, Harper held out her arms.
"I need to feed her," she said. It wasn't a request; it was a dismissal. I handed Emma back, the warmth of her tiny body leaving my arms feeling cold and empty.
"Harps, when you get home..." I started, my voice desperate. "I'll—"
"No." The word was quiet but absolute. It held the same finality as yesterday, but now it was colder, more resolute. "Don't be there, Jack. My parents will stay with me. I need to focus on Emma, on healing. I can't… I can't look at you in our house right now. Not yet."
It was the confirmation of my exile. Yesterday's shock was today's reality. I nodded, unable to form words, and left the room.
I drove to the house, Harper's directive echoing in my head.Don't be there.I wouldn't be. But I could make sure it was ready for her.
I let myself into the quiet, empty home. Everything looked the same, but it all felt different now, like a museum of a life I used to live. In the kitchen, a damp towel lay coiled on the floorwhere Harper's water had broken. A stark, physical reminder of the moment her world changed, and I wasn't there. I picked it up and put it in the laundry. I unloaded the dishwasher she must have run before the contractions started, putting every cup and plate back in its place.
In our bedroom, her side of the bed was still unmade. I smoothed the sheets, plumped her pillow, and made the bed perfectly. Her prenatal vitamins sat on the nightstand next to a glass of water. I touched the pillow where her head had rested, imagining her fear when she couldn't reach me.
I was a fool.
I went to the nursery. Everything was pristine, waiting. I checked the diaper supply, made sure the changing table was stocked, and gently nudged the mobile so the soft animals spun in a silent, hopeful dance. I was preparing a space I would not be allowed to share. It was an act of service, the only language of love I had left to offer for now.
Only after the house was perfect, ready to welcome its queen and new princess, did I finally pack a suitcase. I took enough clothes for a week, though I had no idea where I was going. As I was leaving, a car pulled into the driveway. Harper's parents.
Janet Hills got out of the passenger side, her face set in grim lines. I'd always gotten along well with Harper's parents, but the look Janet gave me now could have frozen hell over.
"Jack." Her greeting was arctic.
"Mrs. Mills. Mr. Mills." I nodded to Harper's father as he came around the car. "I assume you're here to help Harper and Emma."
"We're here to help our daughter, yes. Since her husband couldn't be bothered to be there when she needed him most."
The words stung because they were true. "I know you must be disappointed in me."
"Disappointed?" Janet's voice rose. "Jack, you missed the birth of your daughter because of another woman. Disappointed doesn't begin to cover how we feel."
Harper's father, normally the more diplomatic of the two, looked at me with disgust. "We raised Harper to believe marriage meant partnership. To believe her husband would be there for the important moments. You've made liars out of us."
"I'm going to make this right," I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.
"Are you? Because from where we're standing, you're still making this about you. About what you want, what you need to do." Janet shook her head. "Harper doesn't need your guilt, Jack. She needs practical support. She needs to know she can count on someone."
"She can count on me."
"The evidence suggests otherwise."
I watched them gather overnight bags and groceries from their car, preparing to provide the support I should have been giving. They moved with purpose, with love, with the kind of immediate care that I'd been too distracted to offer.
Because I was a fool.
"We'll be staying as long as Harper needs us," Janet said as they headed toward the front door. "Which means you should probably find somewhere else to be."
It wasn't a request.
She gave my bag a pointed look. "You can come back for the rest."
"Don't try to contact Harper," her father said gruffly. "I'll let you know when my daughter and grandbaby are home from the hospital, and when you can visit to see Emma. Assuming you want to see her."
