Between Us: Is Love Enough?

Chapter 5: The Space Between

Ava’s POV

The apartment listings blur together on my laptop screen—tiny kitchens, stained carpets, windows with broken blinds. All of them too expensive. All of them not home.

Lisa drops onto the couch beside me, handing me a glass of wine. "Find anything?"

I rub my eyes. "A studio on Elm. It’s... small."

Small means cheaper. Small means I might afford it with my flower shop wages and whatever child support Daniel is ordered to pay.

Small means starting over.

Lisa peers at the screen. "You could stay here longer."

I shake my head. "You’ve done enough."

Sophie needs stability. A real bed. A place to keep her toys. Not couch-surfing at her aunt’s while her parents figure out how to be strangers.

My phone buzzes. A text from Daniel: Sophie wants to know if she can keep her pajamas here for tomorrow.

I type back: That’s fine.

Then, before I can overthink it: How is she?

His reply comes fast: Happy. Ate 3 slices. Talking nonstop about a butterfly she saw at school.

A smile tugs at my lips. That’s our girl.

Lisa nudges me. "See? She’s okay."

For now. But what happens when "Daddy’s fun pizza nights" become routine? When Sophie starts noticing that Mommy and Daddy never hug anymore?

I take a long sip of wine. It’s bitter on my tongue.

Daniel’s POV

Sophie’s bedroom is exactly how she left it—pink comforter rumpled, stuffed animals piled haphazardly against the pillows.

I sit on the edge of her bed, holding her favorite bunny. She forgot it tonight.

My phone lights up with Ava’s text. How is she?

She misses her. That’s good. That means this isn’t permanent.

Right?

I wander into our—my—bedroom. The silence presses in. I turn on the TV for background noise, but some sitcom laugh track just makes it worse.

I open my contacts and scroll to Therapist.

I’ve had the number for months. My doctor gave it to me after I snapped at a junior associate during a meeting hard enough to make her cry. Stress management, he said.

I never called.

Now my thumb hovers over the number.

The screen goes dark. I toss my phone onto the bed.

Not tonight.

Ava’s POV

The flower shop’s back room is cool and damp.

"These need to be processed before they wilt," Marlene says, gesturing to a bucket of drooping hydrangeas.

I roll up my sleeves. "Got it."

She hesitates. "You don’t have to stay late, you know."

"I want to."

The truth is, I don’t want to go back to Lisa’s. Don’t want to stare at apartment listings or think about custody schedules or wonder if Daniel is sitting in our empty house right now regretting every cruel word.

Marlene studies me. "You’re running from something."

My hands still on the flower stems. "Is it that obvious?"

"Sweetheart, I’ve been divorced three times." She pats my shoulder. "The ones who survive are the ones who stop running eventually."

I swallow hard. "What if I don’t know how?"

She smiles sadly. "You’ll figure it out."

The bell over the shop door jingles. Marlene goes to help the customer, leaving me alone with the hydrangeas.

I press a fingertip to one wilted blue petal. Maybe some things can’t be revived.

Daniel’s POV

The office is empty at 8 PM.

I stare at my computer screen, where the custody agreement draft from Matthews glows. Alternating weekends. Wednesday dinners. Holidays split down the middle.

I highlight the entire document and hit delete.

My phone rings. Unknown number.

I answer gruffly. "Daniel Reynolds."

"Mr. Reynolds, this is Dr. Bennett’s office. We had a cancellation tomorrow at 11—"

I don’t let her finish. "I’ll take it."

Silence. Then: "Great. We’ll see you then."

I hang up and lean back in my chair.

Across the office, the framed photo on my desk shows Ava and Sophie at the beach last summer. Sophie is mid-laugh, her hair full of sand. Ava is looking at her with so much love it hurts.

I wasn’t in the picture. I was taking it.

Always one step removed.

Ava’s POV

Sophie chatters excitedly as we walk to the park. "Daddy says he’ll take me to the zoo this weekend!"

I adjust her backpack on my shoulder. "That sounds fun."

She skips ahead, then turns to face me, walking backward. "Are you coming too?"

My chest tightens. "Not this time, bug."

Her face falls. "Why not?"

How do I explain to a seven-year-old that her parents can’t stand to be in the same room anymore? That love isn’t always enough?

"We just need some time apart," I say carefully.

Sophie stops walking. "Like a time-out?"

I kneel in front of her. "Kind of."

She considers this, then nods solemnly. "Okay. But time-outs don’t last forever, right?"

I hug her tightly so she can’t see my face. "Right."

Daniel’s POV

The therapist’s waiting room smells like lavender and anxiety.

"Daniel?" A woman with gray-streaked braids stands in the doorway. "I’m Dr. Bennett."

I follow her into an office lined with books. She gestures to a worn leather chair. "What brings you here today?"

I sit, my palms sweating. "My wife left me."

Dr. Bennett nods. "Tell me about that."

Where do I even start?

I rub my hands over my face. "I don’t know how to fix this."

She leans forward. "Maybe you’re not supposed to."

The words hit like a punch.

For the first time in weeks, I take a full breath.

Ava’s POV

The apartment is tiny but clean.

I sign the lease with shaking hands. The landlord gives me the keys. "Move-in’s Monday."

I walk through the empty rooms, imagining where Sophie’s bed will go. Where we’ll eat breakfast. Where I’ll sit alone after she’s with Daniel.

My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number:

This is Dr. Bennett. Daniel gave me your number—he’d like your permission to discuss co-parenting strategies during his sessions. No pressure to respond.

I stare at the message. Daniel? In therapy?

The Daniel who scoffed at couples counseling? Who called self-help books "narcissistic navel-gazing"?

I type back: That’s fine.

Then, before I can second-guess myself: Thank you.

Outside, the sun breaks through the clouds.

Maybe—just maybe—time-outs don’t last forever.