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“Penelope, I brought you an actual pink cow this time.”

Penny squeals, trying and failing to get to her feet where she’s sitting on the floor surrounded by what looks like every single toy from her bin.

He glances back at me over his shoulder, blushing deeper before he sits down gingerly on the floor next to my daughter, and hands her the stuffy.

I’m not sure the floor under my feet has ever felt so solid, even as my world around me spins and spins.

Emerson

Penny giggles from where she’s snuggled in my lap as we watch Dillon walk the living room with the kids’ book she demanded he read.

He gives each character a more obnoxious voice than the last. He stomps and makes theoretical hand movements and grins through it all when Penny laughs. His eyes are full of warmth every time he looks at us. Well, at her.

His love for her is poured into every word he reads. In the way he pretends to be outraged when she yells for more. In the princess crown that’s still sitting on top of his blond hair, the exact same shade as hers. His nose scrunches, just like hers does.

I’m not sure how much more I can handle, honestly. It’s absolutely disgusting how perfect a dad he is. I’ve been subjected to this emotional waterboarding since the moment I walked through the door.

That was hours ago, now.

Penelope tucks her face into my chest and giggles again, but her giggle is broken by a yawn.

His smile slowly falls when he glances at the clock hanging on the wall. I watch in real time as he faces the fact that it’s getting late, and his last night home is almost over.

“Dada bye,” Penny mumbles sleepily, and my stomach drops down to my fucking ass. Dillon’s face falls, and he tries to rake his fingers through his hair. He curses when the crown topples off his head and hits the floor with a sharp bang against the hardwood.

“I wish she would stop saying that,” he says softly, bending to set the book on the coffee table.

What am I doing here?

I gently try to scooch her off my lap and onto the cushion next to me on the couch, but she clings to me with an “ehh, ehh, ehh” noise.

“I got her,” he sighs, moving over to us on the couch and picking her up and into his arms. He presses his nose into the side of her head and kisses her. “It’s already an hour past her bedtime. I’m going to go brush her teeth and get her ready for bed.”

I nod, jumping up to go. I don’t need to be here. I should have left a while ago. I should have—

“Will you stay?” he asks, turning his head to look at me.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this look in his eyes before, but I feel like it's a look I’ve given him plenty of times. Every time I’ve wanted to say something but couldn’t. Wanted to ask for something but didn’t know how. Wanted to plead for something to just go my way.

His heartbreak about leaving his routine for months is evident, and fuck but I’m not sure I can add to it right now.

So I nod again, slower this time, and sit back down on the couch. I feel even more out of place when he walks down the hall. I’m left with nothing but sitting and hearing him talk to her in the bathroom. I hear her babble at him. I hear him sing her a song. I listen while he lets her pick out pajamas and swallow hard when she laughs. I can picture him in there, tickling her. Making her laugh even though he’s so fucking sad about it.

Four months.

Four months.

What would it be like to leave something so precious for that amount of time? I couldn’t even imagine leaving my favorite blow-dryer for that long, let alone a fucking child.

Unable to sit still anymore, I move off the couch and start picking up all the toys scattered around. The kid pulled out all of them; like a little tornado, she tore through this room and wrecked the whole thing. I find the remote in my shoe and am just starting to gather the pillows she pulled off the couch when I hear her little voice.

“Unc Em!” she yells.

I pause with the pillows in my hands, heart beating like I’m about to be executed.

“Unc Em!” she hollers again, and I eye the darkened hallway. When she calls for me again, my feet start moving on their own accord. I set the pillows next to the open door to her bedroom and peek around the doorway.

The walls are painted a pale purple with flowers and butterflies painted on the wall behind her crib. She’s standing up in it now, hands holding on to the railing to steady herself so she can yell for me again.