The Space Between Us

The Slow Goodbye

The weeks that followed Daniel’s confession passed like a slow-motion disaster. He didn’t disappear immediately, but Kassie could feel him pulling away incrementally, as if he were testing how much distance he could create while still technically being present.

The first casualty was their Friday evenings together.

“You seem somewhere else,” Kassie said, watching him stare at the TV without really seeing it.

“Just thinking about the drive tomorrow,” he said, but his voice was flat, mechanical.

She’d grown used to these weekly separations over three years, but now they felt different. Before, Daniel would call her from the road, text her pictures of things that reminded him of her, count down the days until he could see her again. Now, as he prepared for another week with Lindy, he seemed relieved to be leaving.

When he returned the following Friday after dropping Lindy back off, Kassie could tell immediately that he hadn’t told his daughter anything about the baby. His face carried the weight of secrets, and when she asked how Lindy was doing, his answers were vague and distant.

“She made a drawing for me,” he said, pulling a piece of construction paper from his bag. In crayon, a little girl with pigtails stood next to a tall figure labeled “Daddy,” surrounded by hearts and flowers. “She wants to plant a garden this spring.”

“Did you talk to her about the baby?”

“The timing wasn’t right,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “She was so happy to have me there. I didn’t want to complicate things.”

*Complicate things.* As if their child was a complication rather than a blessing.

“Daniel, she needs to be prepared. The baby’s going to be here in a few months.”

“I know that.” His voice carried an edge of irritation, as if she were pressuring him about something trivial. “I’ll tell her when the time is right.”

But Kassie was beginning to suspect that in Daniel’s mind, the right time would never come.

Over the following weeks, Daniel began a systematic withdrawal from their relationship. He visited less and less, often texting excuses about being tired after work or needing to prepare for Lindy’s next visit. When he did come over, he worked on small projects around her house with focused intensity, as if staying busy could help him avoid conversations about their future. When she’d try to talk about anything baby-related, she’d find him already reaching for his keys, citing early mornings or late meetings.

Meanwhile, Kassie had been wrestling with when and how to tell her own children about the pregnancy. Lee, at twelve, was old enough to notice her changing body and increasing doctor’s appointments. Aaron kept making jokes about her eating more crackers lately, and Marie had started commenting on how tired she seemed after cheer practice pickups.

She finally told them on a quiet Sunday morning in mid-July, sitting around the kitchen table over pancakes Aaron had helped her make.

“I have something important to tell you guys,” she began, her heart racing. Lee looked up from his phone immediately—he always could sense when something serious was coming. Aaron paused mid-bite, syrup dripping from his fork, while Marie bounced slightly in her chair with anticipation.

“Am I in trouble?” Aaron asked, which made Kassie smile despite her nerves.

“No, honey. Nobody’s in trouble. But our family is going to be growing. I’m having a baby.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Lee’s expression cycled through surprise, confusion, and something that might have been concern. Aaron’s mouth fell open, pancake forgotten. Marie’s eyes went wide with excitement.

“A baby?!” Marie squealed, then immediately lowered her voice as if remembering this was serious news. “Like, a real baby? That will live here?”

“Yes, sweetheart. The baby will be here sometime early next year.”

“But I thought you couldn’t have babies,” Lee said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of conversations he’d overheard during the divorce years ago.

Kassie’s chest tightened. “I thought so too. But sometimes medical procedures don’t work the way doctors expect them to. This baby is… unexpected, but wanted.”

“Is it Daniel’s?” The question came from Aaron, blunt and direct in the way only a ten-year-old could manage.

“Yes,” Kassie said simply.

“Is he excited?” Marie asked, already planning what seemed like a celebration in her head.

“Daniel is… still figuring out how he feels about it,” she said carefully. “This is a big change for everyone.”

Lee’s expression darkened. He was old enough to read between the lines, old enough to understand that “figuring out how he feels” probably meant Daniel wasn’t happy about the news.

“Where is he?” Lee asked.

“He’s been staying at his own place for a while. We both needed some space to think about how this changes things.”

“But he’s coming back, right?” Marie’s voice was small now, uncertain. She’d grown attached to Daniel over the years, loved showing him her cheer routines and getting his help with math homework.

“I don’t know, baby,” Kassie said honestly. “I hope so.”

The conversation that followed was harder than she’d anticipated. Aaron wanted to know if they’d have to move, if the baby would share his room, if Daniel not being around meant they couldn’t see him anymore. Marie kept asking when the baby would arrive and if she could help pick out clothes. Lee remained mostly quiet, but Kassie could see him processing, making connections she wished he didn’t have to make.

The nursery became Kassie’s project with Marie’s eager help, and every task felt like evidence of how alone she was in this pregnancy. She painted the walls a soft yellow while fighting morning sickness, taking breaks to sit on the floor with her head between her knees while Marie brought her crackers and water. She assembled the crib with tears streaming down her face, reading the instructions three times because her hands were shaking too badly to hold the screws steady, while Marie handed her pieces and chattered about how excited she was to have a baby sister or brother. She hung the mobile she’d carefully chosen—soft animals in gentle pastels that would dance in the light from the window—while Daniel was conspicuously absent, probably at his own house avoiding another conversation about cribs and car seats.

One evening in August, when Daniel had stopped by to fix a loose cabinet door, Kassie found him standing in the nursery doorway with an expression that made her stomach clench. He wasn’t looking at their future child’s room with anticipation—he was looking at it like it represented everything he was afraid of losing.

“It’s coming together,” she said softly, hoping to bridge the growing chasm between them.

Daniel’s eyes took in the soft yellow walls, the carefully positioned furniture, the gentle mobile spinning slowly in the light from the window. Everything in the room spoke of love and careful preparation, of a future they were supposed to be building together.

“Lindy still doesn’t know,” he said quietly.

Kassie felt her chest tighten. “Daniel, she needs to be prepared—”

“She’s five years old, Kassie.” His voice was hollow, distant. “She doesn’t understand that having another child doesn’t mean I love her less. All she’s going to see is me choosing this baby over her.”

“That’s not what’s happening.”

“Isn’t it?” He turned away from the room, as if he couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. “My father made the same choice once. New family, new priorities. I swore I’d never do that to Lindy.”

The comparison hit Kassie like a physical blow. “You’re not abandoning Lindy by having another child.”

But Daniel was already walking toward the door, picking up his toolbox. “I should head home. Early day tomorrow.”

The breaking point came two weeks later. Daniel had been more distant than ever, his visits becoming shorter and more infrequent. When he did come over, he’d find projects to work on that kept his hands busy and his eyes averted from anything baby-related. The ultrasound pictures she’d hopefully placed on the refrigerator remained uncommented upon. The baby name book she’d left on the coffee table gathered dust.

That night, when he’d stopped by, she’d made his favorite dinner—the pasta dish he’d taught her to make during their first year together, when they’d spent entire evenings cooking and talking and planning their future. She’d set the table hopefully, thinking maybe they could finally have a real conversation.

“This is nice,” Daniel said, but his voice was flat, going through the motions.

“I thought we could talk,” Kassie said carefully. “About the baby. About us.”

Daniel’s fork stilled against his plate. “What about us?”

“We’re having a child together, Daniel. In a few months, we’re going to be parents. But we haven’t talked about any of it. We haven’t discussed how this is going to work, or what happens when the baby comes, or how we’re going to manage your visits with Lindy.”

“I can’t.” The words came out sharp, final. “I can’t think about all of that right now.”

“When?” Kassie’s voice broke despite her efforts to stay calm. “When are you going to be ready to think about our child’s future?”

Daniel pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. “I need to go home.”

He left her sitting alone at the table with cooling pasta and dimming hopes, and Kassie knew with terrible certainty that they were falling apart.

The next evening, Daniel came over with news that shattered what remained of her hope.

“I think we need to step back,” he said without preamble, standing awkwardly in her living room like a visitor instead of someone who’d been part of her life for three years.

Kassie looked up from where she’d been folding tiny baby clothes—clothes she’d bought with Marie’s help, for a baby she was beginning to think she’d be raising alone. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t be in two places at once, Kassie. I can’t be the father Lindy needs and the father this baby deserves. Every time I try to picture it working, I just see myself failing everyone.”

“So you’re choosing to fail me now instead?”

“I’m choosing to stop making decisions while I’m panicking.” His voice was quiet, defeated. “Maybe if I have some distance, some time to think, I can figure out how to do this right.”

Kassie felt something cold and final settle in her chest. “How much distance?”

“I don’t know.” Daniel’s honesty was more devastating than any lie could have been. “I just know I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this when I’m not. This is not what I wanted and you know that.”

“And what about me? What about our baby?”

Daniel’s face crumpled. “I can’t be what you need me to be right now. It’s not fair to Lindy.”

Three days later, Daniel’s visits stopped altogether. Three years of shared life reduced to careful text messages about practical matters. He didn’t reach out unless it was to respond to Kassie’s text. He stopped coming over. He showed he had no interest in her or their baby.