The teacher guided Maisie toward the other children.
She didn't want to go.
She kept looking back at Russell.
He crouched down and spoke softly to her.
"Go get ready, sweetheart. I'll be right here."
Maisie hesitated.
"Promise?"
Russell looked at her.
Then he nodded.
"I promise."
I looked away.
I couldn't listen to another promise.
Not yet.
Maisie finally went with the teacher.
She turned around twice before disappearing behind the stage curtain.
Russell watched her go.
I watched him.
He looked older than I remembered.
His hair was untidy.
His clothes looked as though he had put them on in a hurry.
The pink tutu made the whole situation seem almost ridiculous.
But there was nothing funny about what had happened.
He turned toward me.
"Can we talk?"
I didn't answer immediately.
I looked toward the hallway.
Then I nodded.
"Somewhere private."
We moved away from the auditorium.
The sound of children talking followed us.
Russell kept the folded paper in his hand.
I noticed that he never put it away.
Whatever it contained, he had carried it into the room knowing he would eventually show it to me.
I stopped near a quiet section of the hallway.
"Start talking."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I don't know where to begin."
"Try with the reason you left."
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said something that surprised me.
"I was afraid."
I stared at him.
"Of what?"
He looked down at the paper.
"Of what would happen if I stayed."
I waited.
He didn't continue.
I felt my patience disappearing.
"Russell, you cannot come back after two years and give me half a sentence."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He nodded.
"I know I hurt you."
I shook my head.
"You hurt Maisie too."
His eyes moved toward the auditorium.
"I know."
"She asked me whether you still loved her."
Russell closed his eyes.
I continued.
"She carried your absence around like something she had done wrong."
He pressed his lips together.
I had never seen him look so helpless.
But I wasn't ready to comfort him.
I had spent too long doing that from a distance.
"She didn't understand why you stopped calling."
He looked at me.
"I wanted to call."
"Then why didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Do you know how many times I tried reaching you about this performance?"
He shook his head.
"How many?"
"Seventeen."
His face changed.
I repeated it.
"Seventeen times, Russell."
He looked at the floor.
"I didn't know."
"That is the problem. You didn't know anything about what was happening here because you weren't here."
He nodded slowly.
I wanted him to argue.
I wanted him to defend himself.
At least then I would know what he believed.
But he remained quiet.
I pointed toward the folded paper.
"What is that?"
He looked at it.
"This is part of what I came to show you."
"Then show me."
He unfolded it slightly.
I saw writing.
There were several creases across the paper.
It had clearly been opened and folded many times.
But he didn't hand it to me.
Not yet.
He looked uncomfortable.
"I need to explain something first."
I almost walked away.
I had heard enough introductions.
Enough statements about needing time.
Enough promises that an explanation was coming.
But something in his face made me stay.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't trying to charm me.
He looked frightened.
And that frightened me too.
"Is this why you disappeared?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
He took a long breath.
"I made a decision because I thought it was the only way to protect my family."
I stared at him.
"Protect us from what?"
He didn't answer immediately.
The sound of applause came from the auditorium.
The performance had apparently continued without us.
I looked toward the doors.
Maisie was supposed to be dancing.
She had spent days preparing.
And now I was standing in a hallway trying to understand why her father had vanished.
I felt angry all over again.
"Do you understand what today was supposed to be?"
Russell nodded.
"It was supposed to be her day."
"Yes."
He looked toward the auditorium.
"I know."
I watched him.
He had come dressed in a pink tutu.
He had run down the aisle.
He had lifted his daughter.
For a moment, he had given her exactly what she wanted.
But he couldn't undo the years that came before that moment.
I looked at the folded paper again.
"Is there something written here?"
He nodded.
"Something I kept."
"From when?"
He hesitated.
Then he said he had carried it for a long time.
I couldn't tell whether it was a letter, a record, or something else.
I didn't want to guess.
I wanted him to explain it.
He looked at me.
"I know you won't believe everything I say."
"That depends on what you say."
He lowered his eyes.
"I don't expect you to forgive me today."
That was the first thing he had said that I believed.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
I wasn't even sure I wanted to hear his apology.
I wanted the truth.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Russell folded the paper again.
"I'll tell you everything."
I looked toward the auditorium.
Then I looked back at him.
"You should have done that two years ago."
He nodded.
"Yes."
And for once, he didn't offer an excuse.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: When I Saw How Carefully He Had Kept That Folded Paper, I Realized His Return Was Not Something He Had Planned Today
The Morning My Husband Walked Away Without an Argument, Leaving Me With a Little Girl Who Still Believed He Would Come Home
Part 6 of 20
