Two years passed.
Not all at once.
One day at a time.
I stopped expecting Russell to appear every time my phone rang.
I stopped treating every quiet evening as a sign that he might come home the following morning.
I had learned to continue with our lives.
But continuing wasn't the same as forgetting.
Maisie was growing.
The little girl who had once asked where her father was had become an eight-year-old.
She still remembered him.
She still wanted him.
And I couldn't blame her for either thing.
I never told her that she should stop hoping.
I never told her that missing someone was foolish.
I knew she had her own feelings about what had happened.
I also knew that no matter how much I tried to make up for Russell's absence, I couldn't become both parents.
I could love her.
I could comfort her.
I could show up.
But I couldn't take the place of the father she wanted.
Then the school announced a special performance.
It was a father-daughter ballet event.
The announcement reached the families through the school.
There would be a performance, and the girls would take part with their fathers.
For some families, it was probably an ordinary school activity.
A date to put on the calendar.
Something to prepare for.
A reason to buy a little outfit and take photographs.
For Maisie, it became something much bigger.
She came home carrying a pink flyer.
I noticed it in her hands before she even reached me.
She looked excited.
There was something about the way she held that paper that made me smile.
She wanted to show me the announcement.
I read it.
Then I looked at her.
She was already thinking about the performance.
I could see it in her expression.
She wasn't simply interested in dancing.
She wanted someone to dance with her.
And I knew who she was thinking about.
She asked whether her father could come.
Just once.
I felt my smile become difficult to maintain.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to tell her that he would be there.
I wanted to give her the kind of answer that would make her run around the room with excitement.
But I had learned not to promise things on Russell's behalf.
I didn't know where he was emotionally.
I didn't know whether he would answer.
I didn't know whether he would agree.
I didn't even know whether he wanted to be part of an event like this.
Still, I couldn't tell Maisie that I wouldn't try.
So I told her I would do my best.
She seemed pleased.
That was enough to make me pick up the phone.
I looked for Russell's number.
It was still there.
I hadn't deleted it.
Perhaps some part of me had never been ready to make that final decision.
I stared at his name for a moment.
Then I called.
I waited.
No answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
I put the phone down.
Then I picked it up later and tried once more.
I told myself that perhaps he hadn't seen the first call.
Maybe he was occupied.
Maybe he would recognize the number and return the call when he had time.
I wanted to believe there was a simple reason.
I kept trying.
The performance mattered to Maisie.
That was all I could think about.
I wasn't calling to discuss our marriage.
I wasn't asking him to explain the two years.
I wasn't demanding that he return to our home.
I was asking him to show up for his daughter.
Just one day.
Just one performance.
Just one chance to stand beside the little girl who still wanted him there.
But my calls went unanswered.
I couldn't get a response.
I tried again.
I checked the phone.
Still nothing.
I tried to imagine what I would say if he answered.
I would tell him about the performance.
I would explain how excited Maisie was.
I would tell him that she wanted him there.
I would ask him to think about her before deciding.
I wouldn't even know how to begin talking about everything else.
The years between us felt too large to fit into one phone conversation.
But perhaps that wasn't important right then.
The important thing was Maisie.
I called again.
And again.
Seventeen attempts.
I counted them because I couldn't believe I had reached that number without hearing his voice.
Seventeen times I had tried to give him an opportunity to be there.
Seventeen times I had hoped he would answer.
Nothing.
I sat with the phone in my hand.
The pink flyer was nearby.
I looked at it and felt the excitement of the day becoming something heavier.
I didn't know how to explain this to Maisie.
I didn't want to tell her that her father had ignored another opportunity.
I didn't want to watch her face change.
But I also couldn't make him answer.
I was beginning to understand that wanting something for our daughter didn't mean I could make it happen.
That evening, Maisie asked whether I had spoken to him.
I looked at her.
I could have avoided the question.
I could have said I was still trying.
But she deserved honesty.
I told her I hadn't been able to reach him.
She didn't say much.
She kept the pink flyer close.
I watched her look at it again.
She still wanted him to come.
Of course she did.
And despite everything, I found myself hoping he would surprise us.
Not because he deserved another chance to disappoint her.
Because she deserved the chance to have her father beside her.
I didn't know what else to do.
The performance was approaching.
The calls had brought no answer.
And I had to prepare my daughter for a day she had imagined differently.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: She Tied a Pink Ribbon Around Her Bunny Before Walking Into a Room Filled With Fathers Who Had Actually Come
The Morning My Husband Walked Away Without an Argument, Leaving Me With a Little Girl Who Still Believed He Would Come Home
Part 3 of 20
