Chapter 22 Tyson I sat in my truck outside the house— our house, exc ept it wasn't ours anymore, was it?—for ten minutes before I could make myself get out. It was 1:52 PM. Brook had said 2:00. I didn't want to be early and seem too eager, but I also didn't want to be late and give her any reason to change her mind about letting me come over. The house looked the same as it had four weeks ago when I'd walked out. Same blue shutters. Same flower beds that Brook had planted last spring. Same basketball
hoop over the garage where I'd been teaching Preston to shoot. But everything was different now. I was a visitor. A guest in the home I'd helped buy, helped furnish, helped fill with memories. At 1:58, I finally forced myself out of the truck. I'd brought my diaper bag—the one we'd gotten at the baby shower, navy blue with gray stripes—filled with diapers, wipes, an extra outfit for Sofia, and the stuffed giraffe I'd left at the hospital. I didn't know if Brook would let me leave it here, but I wanted Sofia to have it. My hands were shaking as I walked up the front path. I'd walked this path a thousand times. Carried Brook over the threshold when we'd first bought the place. Carried Preston in from the car when he'd fallen asle ep. Carried groceries, furniture, Christmas trees. Now I felt like I needed permission just to knock on the door. I rang the doorbell instead of using my key. It felt wrong to just walk in, even though technically I still lived here. Legally, anyway. Brook answered almost immediately, like she'd been waiting. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and one of her oversized sweatshirts. But she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "Hi," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "Hi." I held up the diaper bag. "I brought supplies. Wasn't sure what you needed." "That's... that's good. Thoughtful. Thank you." She st epped back, letting me in. The house smelled like home. Like the lavender candles Brook loved, like the coffee she drank constantly, like the baby lotion we used on Sofia. It smelled like everything I'd lost. "Daddy!" Preston came running from the living room, and I dropped to my knees just in time to catch him. He slammed into me with the full force of his four-year-old body, his arms wrapping around my neck so tight I could barely breathe. "Hey, buddy," I said, my voice breaking. "I missed you so much." "I missed you too!" He pulled back, his face bright with joy. "Are you staying? Are you coming home?" The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I looked up at Brook, who was watching us with an expression I couldn't read. "I'm here to help Mommy with Sofia for a little bit," I said carefully. "So you and Mommy can have some special time together." Preston's face fell. "But... but when are you coming home? Why don't you live here anymore?" "Preston, baby, we talked about this," Brook said gently, moving closer. "Remember? Daddy and I are working some things out. But he still loves you very much." "But I want him to live here." Preston's lower lip trembled. "I want you both here." I pulled him close again, pressing my face against his hair so he wouldn't see me crying. "I know, buddy. I know. I'm sorry." Brook crouched down beside us, her hand on Preston's back. For a moment, we were a unit again—both of us comforting our son, both of us breaking inside. "How about you and I go to the park?" Brook said. "We can get ice cream after. Would you like that?" Preston nodded against my shoulder, then pulled back. "Will you be here when I get back?" "I don't know," I said honestly, looking at Brook. "Probably not today," Brook said. "But Daddy will come visit again soon. Right?" She was looking at me, and I nodded quickly. "Absolutely. As often as Mommy says I can." Preston seemed to acc ept this, though he held onto my hand as we all stood up. "Can you come to my T-ball game on Saturday?" "If Mommy says it's okay." Brook hesitated, then nodded. "That's fine."
"Yes!" Preston pumped his fist, and despite everything, I had to smile. "Okay, baby, go get your shoes on," Brook said. "We'll leave in a few minutes." Preston ran off, and suddenly it was just me and Brook standing in the entryway of our house, the silence heavy between us. "Sofia's in the living room," Brook said. "In her bouncer. She ate about an hour ago, so she'll probably be hungry again in another hour or so. Bottles are in the fridge—just warm them up in the bottle warmer. It's on the counter." "Okay." "Diapers are in the nursery, but there's also a changing station set up in the living room. She's been spitting up a lot, so ke ep a burp cloth handy." Brook was talking fast, like she was nervous. "And if she won't stop crying, sometimes she likes to be walked around. Or you can try the swing. It's in the corner." "Brook." I said her name softly, and she stopped, looking at me. "I've got this. I promise. We'll be fine." "I know. I just..." She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself. "I've never left her with anyone exc ept Lake. And that was only for an hour." "I'm her father." The words came out more sharply than I intended, and I immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" "No, you're right. You are her father." Brook's voice was tight. "I just... I need to get used to this. To sharing her." "I'm not trying to take her from you." "I know." She looked away. "Preston's shoes are probably on backwards. He's been insisting on doing everything himself lately." It was a peace offering, this small piece of normalcy. I took it gratefully. "I'll check them before you leave." Brook nodded, then went to get Preston. I walked into the living room, my heart pounding. Sofia was in her bouncer, awake and looking around with those dark blue eyes that were starting to look more like Brook's every day. She was wearing a pink onesie with little el ephants on it, and she'd gotten so much bigger in just the few days since I'd seen her at the hospital. "Hi, baby girl," I whispered, crouching down beside her. "Hi, Sofia. It's Daddy." She turned her head toward my voice, and I swear she focused on my face. My throat got tight. "I'm sorry I haven't been here," I said softly. "I'm so sorry. But I'm here now, okay? I'm here." I heard Brook and Preston in the entryway, heard her helping him with his shoes, which were, in fact, on the wrong feet, heard her reminding him to listen and be good. Then they were at the living room doorway. Preston waved enthusiastically. "Bye, Daddy! See you later!" "Bye, buddy. Have fun." Brook lingered, her eyes on Sofia, then on me. "My phone's on. Call if you need anything." "We'll be fine," I said again. She nodded, but she didn't move. Just stood there, looking at our daughter, at me, like she was memorizing the scene. "Brook," I said gently. "Go. Spend time with our son. We'll be here when you get back." Finally, she left. I heard the front door close, heard her SUV start up and pull out of the driveway. And then it was just me and Sofia. I lifted her carefully out of the bouncer, supporting her head the way the NICU nurses had shown me, and held her against my chest. She was so small, so warm, so perfect. "It's just you and me, baby girl," I whispered. "Just you and me." She made a tiny sound, her fist curling against my shirt, and I started to cry. I'd missed so much already. Her first night home. Her first week home. All those middle-of-the-night feedings, all those diaper changes, all those quiet moments
when it was just her and Brook. I'd thrown it all away because I'd been too stupid to trust my own wife. "I'm going to do better," I promised Sofia. "I'm going to be the dad you deserve. I swear." For the next hour, I just held her. Walked around the living room, the kitchen, the dining room. Showed her the pictures on the walls —her and Preston at the hospital, Preston as a baby, our wedding photo. "That's your mama," I said, stopping in front of our wedding picture. Brook looked so young, so happy, her smile bright enough to light up the whole room. "She's the most amazing person I've ever met. And I hurt her really badly. But I'm going to fix it, Sofia. I'm going to make it right." Sofia yawned, her little mouth opening wide, and I smiled through my tears. When she started fussing, I checked her diaper—wet—and carried her upstairs to the nursery. The room looked exactly like it had the last time I'd seen it. The crib I'd assembled. The changing table I'd painted. The rocking chair Brook and I had picked out together. The giraffe-themed decorations we'd spent hours hanging. I changed Sofia's diaper, talking to her the whole time. "You're doing so good, baby girl. Such a good girl. Daddy's got you." She kicked her legs, and I caught her tiny foot, pressing a kiss to it. She was so perfect. So absolutely perfect. Back downstairs, I warmed a bottle the way Brook had instructed, testing it on my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. Sofia was starting to cry now, her face scrunching up, and I settled into the corner of the couch with her. "I know, I know. Bottle's coming." I positioned her carefully, offered her the bottle, and she latched on immediately, her eyes closing in contentment. This. This was what I'd been missing. This quiet, intimate moment of taking care of my daughter. Of being her father. I watched her eat, her little hand resting against the bottle, her breathing evening out as she relaxed. She was so trusting, so vulnerable. She had no idea that her father had almost destroyed their family. That he'd chosen to believe a lie instead of fighting for the truth. "I'm going to make you proud," I whispered. "You, Preston and your mama. I'm going to be the man you all deserve."When she finished the bottle, I burped her carefully, and she rewarded me with a massive spit-up that soaked the burp cloth and my shirt. "Well," I said, looking down at the mess. "Guess Mommy warned me about that." I cleaned us both up, changed my shirt—there was still a drawer of my clothes in the bedroom, untouched—and settled back on the couch with Sofia. She was drowsy now, her eyes heavy, and I held her against my chest while she fell asle ep. The house was so quiet. Peaceful. This was what I'd imagined when Brook was pregnant—these quiet afternoons with our daughter, just the two of us, while Preston was at preschool or playing with friends. Instead, I was a visitor. A guest. Someone who had to be invited in. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the front door was opening and Preston was running in, his face sticky with what looked like chocolate ice cream. "Daddy! We went to the park and I went on the big slide and Mommy got me ice cream and—" He stopped, seeing Sofia asle ep on my chest. "Is my baby sister sle eping?" "Yeah, buddy. She's sle eping." I smiled at him. "Did you have fun?" "Uh-huh!" He climbed up on the couch beside me, careful not to jostle Sofia. "Can I sit with you?" "Of course." He
snuggled against my side, and for a moment, I had both my children with me. Safe. Content. Loved. Brook appeared in the doorway, and when she saw us—Preston tucked against my side, Sofia asle ep on my chest—something flickered across her face. Pain. Longing. Something else I couldn't name. "How was she?" Brook asked quietly. "Perfect. She ate about forty-five minutes ago. Had a massive spitup, but we survived." I smiled. "She's been asle ep for maybe twenty minutes." Brook nodded, moving closer. "Preston, baby, you need to wash your hands and face. You're covered in chocolate." "But I want to stay with Daddy." "I know, but Daddy needs to go soon. Come on." She held out her hand, and Preston reluctantly slid off the couch. "Will you come back tomorrow?" he asked me. I looked at Brook. "If Mommy says it's okay." "We'll see," Brook said. "Come on, Preston." She took him upstairs, and I heard the bathroom sink running. Carefully, I stood up with Sofia, not wanting to wake her. I should put her in her bouncer, should get ready to leave. But I couldn't make myself let go yet. Brook came back downstairs a few minutes later. "Preston's watching a show. He'll be occupied for a bit." "Okay." I looked down at Sofia. "Should I put her down?" "I can take her." Brook moved closer, and I carefully transferred Sofia to her arms. Our hands brushed, and Brook pulled back quickly, like I'd burned her. "Sorry," I said. "It's fine." She settled Sofia against her shoulder, swaying slightly. "Thank you for coming. For helping." "Thank you for letting me." I picked up the diaper bag. "I, uh, I brought the giraffe. The one from the hospital. I thought maybe Sofia could ke ep it. If that's okay." Brook's eyes got shiny. "That's... yeah. That's fine." I pulled it out of the bag, setting it on the coffee table. "And I can come back. Whenever you need help. Or just to see them. Whatever works for you." "Tyson—" "I'm not trying to push," I said quickly. "I just... I want to be here. For them. For you. However you'll let me." Brook looked at me for a long moment, and I saw the war happening behind her eyes. The anger. The hurt. But also something else. Something that looked almost like hope. "You can come back on Thursday," she said finally. "Same time. I need to take Preston to his checkup, and it would be good if someone was here with Sofia." "I'll be here." I would have promised her anything in that moment. "Thank you, Brook. Really." She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. "You should go. Preston will want to say goodbye." I went upstairs, found Preston sprawled on his bed watching cartoons. "Hey, buddy. I have to go now." "Already?" His face fell. "Yeah, but I'll see you on Thursday. And at your T-ball game on Saturday, remember?" "Okay." He sat up, throwing his arms around my neck. "I love you, Daddy." "I love you too, Preston. So much." I held him tight, breathing in the little-boy smell of him—chocolate and sunshine and something uniquely Preston. "Be good for Mommy, okay?" "I will." I kissed the top of his head and forced myself to let go. Brook was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, still holding Sofia. I wanted to kiss them both goodbye. Wanted to pull Brook into my arms and tell her I loved her, that I'd never stop loving her, that I'd spend the rest of my life making this up to her. But I couldn't. So I just said, "I'll see you Thursday." "Thursday," she agreed. I walked to the door, my hand on the knob, and then I couldn't help myself. I turned back. Brook was watching me,
Sofia asle ep against her shoulder, and the look on her face was so complicated—sad and angry and tired and something that might have been longing. "I love you," I said. "I know I don't have the right to say it anymore, but I do. I love you so much, Brook." Her eyes filled with tears. "Tyson—" "You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know." I opened the door. "I'll see you Thursday." I made it to my truck before I broke down, my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, my whole body shaking with sobs. I'd held my daughter. I'd spent time with my son. I'd been in my house, with my family. And then I'd had to leave. It was the right thing—Brook needed space, needed time, needed to heal. I understood that. But God, it hurt. My phone buzzed. A text from Brook. Wifey : You forgot the diaper bag I looked at the passenger seat. She was right. I'd left it on the coffee table. Me : Sorry. I can come back and get it, or— Wifey : It's fine. You can get it Thursday. Or I can leave it on the porch if you need it before then. I stared at the message, reading between the lines. She wasn't inviting me back in. But she also wasn't shutting me out completely. Me : Thursday's fine. Thank you again for today. The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Wifey : You're good with her. With both of them. My vision blurred. It was the closest thing to a compliment she'd given me in weeks. Me : I'm trying. I want to be the father they deserve. Wifey : I know. Two words. But they felt like a gift. I drove back to my apartment, those two words echoing in my head. I know. She knew I was trying. She saw it. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't reconciliation. But it was something. And right now, something was enough.