"That's significant growth, Daniel."
Growth. Ten weeks of therapy. Twenty sessions. Countless hours sitting with discomfort, facing truths I've spent a lifetime avoiding.
And I'm still alone.
"What if I do all this and she never wants to talk to me again?" The fear escapes before I can contain it.
Dr. Chen's expression doesn't change. "Then you'll be a better father to your child. That has to be enough."
***
Trust Journal - Week 9, Day 2
Afraid the silence means she's moved on. Afraid she's forgotten me. Afraid I'm doing all this work in a vacuum and it won't matter. But I keep showing up anyway because she asked me to figure out WHY. Still figuring it out.
***
The Instagram story appears on my phone late on a Wednesday night.
Gretchen posted it—Bailey at a park, hand resting on her stomach, smiling at something off-camera. The afternoon light catches her profile, and my breath stops.
She's showing now. Really showing. Eighteen, maybe nineteen weeks.
Our child. Growing inside her. Real and undeniable.
My thumb hovers over the photo. I could like it. Could comment something simple.You look beautiful.Just two words to let her know I'm thinking about her.
I type it out. Stare at the words.
Delete them without sending.
Close the app.
Open my trust journal instead.
Week 9, Day 5
Saw photo. Wanted to reach out. Didn't. Trusting the process.
***
Two days later, I have a meeting three blocks from Luna's Coffee.
I don't plan to drive past it. Don't consciously choose that route.
But somehow my car ends up on Fifth Street at 3 PM, and there she is.
Through the window. Making drinks behind the counter. Laughing at something a customer said. Her hair is pulled back, and she looks tired—I can tell even from across the street—but she's okay.
She's surviving.
I park. Tell myself I'm just sitting for a moment. Catching my breath before the next meeting.
My hand reaches for the door handle.
I could walk in. Order a coffee. See her face when she recognizes me. Maybe she'd smile. Maybe we'd talk.
Or maybe I'd shatter whatever fragile peace she's built.
