The hardest part wasn't waking up without Russell.
It was watching Maisie grow accustomed to asking where he was.
At first, she asked about him naturally.
She wanted to know when he would visit.
She wanted to know whether he would call.
Sometimes she mentioned something she wanted to tell him.
I listened.
I answered what I could.
And I kept hoping Russell would make it easier for both of us.
There were moments when I thought things might improve.
His calls hadn't stopped immediately.
He still contacted us.
But something about those conversations changed.
They became shorter.
There was less to say.
Or perhaps he simply didn't want to say it.
I couldn't tell.
Whenever I heard the phone ring, I felt a little rush of hope.
I would look at the screen.
Sometimes I imagined that this would be the call when he explained everything.
The call when he said he was coming home.
The call when our daughter could stop wondering.
But those conversations never gave me what I needed.
I tried to keep them ordinary.
I didn't want every phone call to become an argument.
I didn't want Maisie hearing me demand answers.
I wanted her to have a relationship with her father.
Even if that relationship was becoming smaller.
One evening, Maisie asked me whether Daddy would be home soon.
I remember looking at her.
She wasn't asking for anything extraordinary.
She just wanted to know when she would see him.
I told her I didn't know.
That was the truth.
I didn't like saying it.
But I couldn't keep giving her dates or promises that I couldn't control.
She nodded.
Then she went back to what she had been doing.
Children can make a painful answer look small.
They don't always cry immediately.
Sometimes they simply return to their toys.
And that makes the sadness harder to bear.
As the days passed, Russell's calls became less frequent.
The conversations grew shorter.
I noticed myself trying to stretch them.
I asked whether he was doing well.
I asked whether he wanted to speak with Maisie.
I tried to give him opportunities to ask about her.
I didn't want to force anything.
I just wanted him to remember that there was a little girl waiting for him.
Eventually, the calls stopped.
At first, I thought it was temporary.
I told myself he might be busy.
Maybe something had come up.
Maybe he would contact us the following day.
I checked my phone more often than I wanted to admit.
I looked at it during ordinary moments.
I looked at it when I was busy.
I looked at it when Maisie wasn't watching.
Nothing.
I didn't know whether he had decided to stop calling or whether something else had happened.
I only knew that I couldn't reach him in the way I once had.
The silence became part of our home.
And I hated it.
I tried to make life feel normal for Maisie.
I didn't want her childhood to become a waiting room.
She deserved more than that.
She deserved to laugh without wondering whether her father would hear about it.
She deserved to enjoy an ordinary day without looking toward the door.
But I couldn't make the questions disappear.
Sometimes she would mention something she had seen or done and say that Daddy would have liked it.
I would listen.
I would smile.
I would tell her she could talk about him whenever she wanted.
I never wanted her to feel guilty for missing him.
Then came the night I knew I would remember for the rest of my life.
Maisie was getting ready for bed.
She had her stuffed bunny with her.
It was the same little companion she often held when she wanted comfort.
I was beside her when she became unusually quiet.
She looked down at the bunny.
Then she looked at me.
Her voice was small.
She asked whether her father still loved her.
I felt something tighten in my chest.
For a moment, I couldn't answer.
Not because I wanted to hurt her.
Because I knew how much the answer mattered.
She wasn't asking about our marriage.
She wasn't asking why Russell had left.
She wasn't asking whether he was happy somewhere else.
She was asking whether she was still loved.
I reached for her.
I pulled her close and held her against me.
I told her that her father loved her.
I said it because I wanted her to feel safe.
I wanted her to sleep without carrying that fear.
But there was another truth I couldn't ignore.
I didn't know what Russell was thinking anymore.
I couldn't speak for him with certainty.
I couldn't explain his choices.
And I couldn't understand why he had allowed so much time to pass without making things easier for his daughter.
I held Maisie a little tighter.
She kept the bunny between us.
I tried not to cry.
I didn't want her to think she had asked something wrong.
I wanted her to remember that she could always come to me.
That night, after she had settled down, I stayed beside her for a while.
I watched her hold the stuffed animal.
I thought about Russell's goodbye.
I thought about the way he had kissed her before leaving.
I thought about the calls that had become shorter.
And I thought about the silence that followed.
Two years.
That was how long his absence would eventually last.
At the time, I couldn't imagine it.
I still thought there might be an explanation around the next corner.
I still thought that one day I would understand why he had walked away.
But I was beginning to understand something else.
Whatever was happening between Russell and me, Maisie was the one who had to live with the unanswered questions.
And I couldn't keep asking her to wait for an answer I didn't have.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Pink School Flyer Seemed Like an Ordinary Invitation Until My Daughter Asked Whether Her Missing Father Could Dance Beside Her
The Morning My Husband Walked Away Without an Argument, Leaving Me With a Little Girl Who Still Believed He Would Come Home
Part 2 of 20
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