The question stops me cold.
"At first?" I force the words out. "To get her back."
"And now?"
Silence. Long, uncomfortable silence while I search for truth.
"Now... I don't know. Because I have to be different."
"Different for her? Or different for you?"
"Both. Either. I don't know."
"Let me ask this," Dr. Chen says. "If Bailey told you tomorrow she'd never speak to you again except about the baby, would you still come to therapy?"
My gut reaction: "No."
Then, reconsidering: "Wait. Yes. I..."
The realization hits like physical impact.
"I have a child coming." My voice breaks. "Even if Bailey never forgives me, that baby is going to grow up knowing me. Watching me. I can't teach them what my father taught me. That love is control. That fear is safety. That people are disposable."
"So?"
"So I have to do this work. Whether Bailey takes me back or not."
The tears come again. "They deserve a parent who won't run when things get hard. Even if their mother won't let me be anything else."
"That's the work, Daniel. Not winning Bailey back. Becoming someone your child won't be afraid of."
"What if I'm doing all this and it's not enough? What if I lose them both anyway?"
"Then you'll still be a father who did the work. And that matters."
Week 11, Day 5
Afraid that changing for the right reasons came too late. Afraid my child will grow up with a father who loves them but can't be with their mother. But I'm here anyway. Because this has to be unconditional. I have to be better whether Bailey forgives me or not.
***
Late afternoon, Lottie enters my office with quarterly reports.
She stops. Studies the trust journal on my desk where I've been writing between meetings.
"You're different lately."
I look up. "Different how?"
"I don't know. More present. Less..." She searches for the word.
"Controlling?"
Small smile. "Yeah. That."
She sets down the reports. "I ran into Bailey last week. Gallery opening downtown."
Every muscle in my body goes still. "How did she look?"
