But is it enough?
The only way to know is to... what? Reach out? See him? Ask for proof?
I'm not ready for that. Not yet.
But maybe someday.
Something flutters in my stomach. So light I almost miss it.
I hold my breath. Wait.
There it is again. A flutter. A whisper of movement.
The baby.
My hand presses harder against my stomach. "Did you just...?"
Another flutter.
Tears stream down my face. "Okay. Okay, I hear you."
The baby is real. Growing. Becoming a person who will need answers someday about why their parents aren't together.
And I need answers too.
Not today. Maybe not next week. But someday soon, I need to stop wondering and find out.
I need to know if Daniel Williams is capable of real change.
Or if I'm fooling myself to even hope he is.
The door isn't open. But it's not locked anymore either.
And that's something.
24
Daniel
"We've been meeting for ten weeks now," Dr. Chen says. "How's the silence?"
I sit in the chair that's become familiar—too familiar. Twice a week for over two months. Twenty sessions of excavating every wound, every fear, every broken piece I've spent twenty years trying to ignore.
"Harder than I expected." My voice sounds raw even to my own ears. "Every day I want to reach out. Tell her about the work I'm doing."
"What stops you?"
"She asked for space. I'm trying to actually listen this time."
Dr. Chen leans forward slightly. "How is this silence different from how you used to withdraw?"
The question hits deeper than expected. I sit with it, turning it over.
"Before, silence was a weapon." The admission costs something. "I withdrew to punish her. To maintain control."
"And now?"
"Now it's..." I search for the word. "Surrender. Trusting that doing the work matters more than announcing I'm doing it."
