He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Maddie needed me. Not the money version of me. Not the efficient version. Me. The actual father part. And I kept failing.”
Lauren shifted against the doorframe.
Not because she was softening.
Because she was listening.
“She stopped talking as much,” he said. “Then she started acting out at school. Then crying over little things. Then not crying at all. I took her to a counselor. I bought books. I rearranged meetings. I told myself I was trying.”
He laughed once, bitter and quiet.
“I was trying like a man trying to fix a leak by painting over the stain.”
Lauren looked at his hands.
Expensive watch.
Wedding ring gone.
Nails bitten down.
“There was a fight,” he said. “Last week. Over homework. Or bedtime. Or the fact that grief turns everything into an argument sooner or later. I don’t even remember what started it. I just remember ending it wrong.”
