He exhales. “I’ve been offered a promotion, Harper. Regional manager. It’s… a big opportunity.”
I wait for the other shoe to fall.
“It’ll keep me in Phoenix,” he continues.
“Then why do we need to change anything?”
“With the promotion comes a lot of travel and longer hours. We can split holidays. Divide the summer breaks.” He pauses. “You can have full-time custody otherwise.”
I blink. “No weekends?”
He finally looks at me, eyes clear and steady. “I’ll fly Mason out when I can, or I’ll come here. But Harper… I can’t be the dad he needs right now. Not from Arizona. And if I’m being honest? I haven’t been that dad even when I was here.”
The room goes very still. This is not the fight I prepared for.
David exhales slowly, like the admission costs him. “I love Mason. I really do. But forcing myself into a role I keep failing at isn’t fair to him.”
I sit there, stunned, realizing this conversation isn’t about control or leverage. It’s about letting go. I’m not sure yet whether that makes it easier or infinitely more painful.
David leans back against the couch, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for years. “I’ve been honest with myself for the first time. Doing what my therapist calls mirror work… and it turns out that version of me isn’t very flattering.”
I don’t interrupt. I don’t trust myself to yet.
“I prioritized my career during our marriage,” he continues, eyes still fixed on the floor. “I always have. I told myself it was about providing, about stability, but the truth is I liked that work didn’t ask the same things of me that being a dad does. It’s not… I love Mason. But being a father is not my calling.”
If I don’t choose my words carefully, I could say the wrong thing. “I’m not sure what that means exactly, David.”
“I was inconsistent, at best. I canceled visits. Too many times. I showed up distracted. And when Mason needed more from me, I resented it instead of stepping up.” He stares out the window. “And I hated myself for it. But I don’t have it in me to give him what he needs.”
Each word lands with quiet finality.
I’ve spent so long bracing for defensiveness that this level of accountability leaves me off balance. “You don’t sound like you’re asking permission.”
“I’m not. I know you’ve always resented how I am with him, and you’re right to feel that way,” David replies. “So, right now, I’m telling you what I can realistically give without continuing to disappoint him.”
I blink at him. I’m stunned. “Wow.”
“You and Aiden… I can see Mason is happy. Really happy.”
My chest tightens, reflexively defensive even though his tone isn’t accusatory. “… and?”
“He talks about Aiden constantly,” David says, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his mouth. “‘The fireman this, the fireman that.’ At first, I told myself it annoyed me because it felt like replacement. But that wasn’t it.”
I wait.
“I realized I was jealous. Not of you two. That was just residual bullshit on my part, and honestly, confusion. What I was actually jealous of was how easily Aiden fathers Mason better than I do. He’s known Mason for a few months at most, and… he runs rings around me.”
I can’t believe I didn’t have to say it first.
“He’s a natural,” David continues. “Patient. Present. Consistent. And I’m not. I thought I could become that by force of will or the fact that Mason is my son, but that isn’t enough.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not hostile.
“Loving Mason doesn’t magically make me good at being his father. It’s time I stop pretending that it does.” He takes an overly large breath and sits taller. “Family isn’t blood. It’s who you choose. I’m a big enough man to admit when I’ve been outdone.”
I search his face for manipulation, for the pivot where this turns into control or guilt or bargaining. I don’t find it. WhatI see instead is grief. For the father he wanted to be. For the version of himself that didn’t materialize.
“This isn’t you walking away,” I say slowly.
