1
GABE
“Daddy, I want Mommy!” I sit straight up in my bed, panic coursing through me as my body tries to work through being fast asleep just a second ago to being fully alert now. I blink through the darkness to see my five-year-old daughter staring at me from next to my bed.
“Amber, what’s wrong?” I ask, my voice a little scratchy as I force my body up into a sitting position.
“I had a bad dream, and I want Mommy!” I know that tone. I’ve heard it a few times before, and it’s her no-nonsense, nothing else will suffice, you better do what I’m asking now voice. And I’m not going to lie, even at six foot two, around a hundred and eighty pounds of mostly muscle, it’s fucking terrifying.
I know what’s coming next, and it’s my kryptonite. Sure enough, the sniffles have started, and if it were lighter in here, I’d see her chin starting to quiver and her bottom lip poking out.
“Amber...” I try to soothe, putting my hand on her little shoulder. “Daddy’s here. I’m right here. Tell me about this dream.”
“No,” she says, stomping her little foot.
I’d love to say I’m not a pushover, but when it comes to this little girl, I absolutely am. I stand up and take her little hand, walking her out into the hall toward the kitchen, trying to think of something—anything—to comfort her. “How about some chocolate milk? You love chocolate milk,” I say, my voice a higher octave than is natural for me, but I’m trying here.
Shell does a really good job at that high-pitched, happy shit. She’s a great mom, but I’m a great dad, damn it. I swear I am.
“No,” she whines. “I want Mommy.”
When we reach the kitchen, I kneel down to her level and place my hands on her shoulders, looking into her little blue eyes. “Amber, it’s late. I can’t wake up your mommy and Randy this late. You want to sleep in my bed? Will that help? I’m right here.”
Her little lip pokes out. I can see it now because I always keep a nightlight on in the kitchen. And it breaks my heart. “I want Mommy.”
I glance over at the clock and see it’s one in the morning. Shelly is for sure asleep and will be pissed at me—not because she doesn’t want to comfort our daughter—but because she’s told me, time and time again, I’m too soft with her. But how can I not be?
Shelly and I got married right out of high school. Starting a family was the plan. I wanted to make sure we had some money saved up and a house to raise kids in, so it took a little bit longer than we’d originally planned to start that family. But from the second I saw Amber in that hospital, my wife snuggling her up to her chest, that was it for me.
I was a dad, first and foremost. That little girl had me wrapped around her tiny finger. And then—it seemed like out of nowhere—my wife was asking me for a divorce. I was moving out and leaving the home we’d built together to go to a tiny littlehouse a couple of blocks away. My wife was dating another man—and then marrying that other man.
No smooth transition there. Nope. Quick and painful. Really fucking painful. I tried my best to shove it all down, but it felt like I failed Amber. She deserved to have two happy parents there with her, and all of a sudden, our family was just broken.
My head still spins from it all, even two years later. I know she’s still struggling with it—hence, waking up in the middle of the night in my little shack of a house that hasn’t become a home—and wanting to go to her mom in the house she knows and loves.
Fuck it.“Okay. Go grab your bunny,” I say to her, trying to hold in my disappointment and sadness that I can’t seem to make this a home for her.
Her eyes shine with victory as she runs down the hall, and I tug on a hoodie over my head, then sit down to pull my boots on. I was wearing pajama pants, and there’s no way I’m putting on jeans just to run over to Shell’s. I send my ex-wife a quick text to let her know we’re on our way, knowing she keeps her phone by her bed and not wanting to startle her with a loud phone call.
She’s a light sleeper. I have no doubt she’ll hear the text.
Amber comes out of her room with the stuffed bunny Shelly’s mom gave her the day she was born and tugs on her little shoes and jacket before I take her out to my truck and buckle her in.
I feel a vibration in my pocket—it’s likely a text from Shelly—and don’t bother checking it. No doubt it’s a passive aggressive message showing her irritation but not arguing with me.
It takes a couple of minutes to reach the large white house a couple of blocks from where I live now with blue shutters and a generous porch. My heart clenches tight as I climb out of the truck and look up at the house with a sense of longing that’s so damn painful, I have to force some air into my lungs so I don’t choke on it.
I grab Amber from the back seat, and she wraps her little arms around my neck while I carry her up to the front door. I don’t have to knock because Shelly is there, opening the door with a bright smile just for Amber right on her pretty face. “Hey, sweet girl! What happened?”
“Mommy!” Amber says, reaching out for her, and Shell embraces her small body, letting her wrap her arms around her mom’s neck. “I missed you!”
Shelly smiles, hugging her close and kissing her head before lowering her to the ground and working her jacket off her shoulders. “I missed you too, but I was going to see you after school.”
Amber’s lip pokes out again, but it doesn’t seem to have the same impact on Shelly as it does me. “But I wanted to see you now! I want my bed.” she sobs slightly, and I feel my heart threatening to explode in my chest.
I want her to feel like the house I live in is hers too, but I can’t blame the kid when it doesn’t even feel like mine. It feels temporary because it was never meant to be permanent. I thought for sure when Shelly asked me to move out, it would be for a month or two while she came to her senses.
That did not happen.
