The Space Between Us

The Silence

October passed in a blur of unanswered calls and one-sided conversations. Daniel’s promise to “figure things out” became an excuse for complete withdrawal. What had started as daily phone calls became every other day, then twice a week, then nothing at all unless Kassie reached out first.

Even then, when she did manage to get him on the phone, Daniel’s responses were cold and mechanical, as if he were speaking to a stranger rather than the woman carrying his child.

“How are you feeling?” she’d ask about his life, hoping to maintain some connection.

“Fine,” he’d say, his voice flat and distant.

When she tried to share updates about the pregnancy—the baby’s first movements, upcoming appointments, her growing belly—he’d respond with silence or change the subject so abruptly it felt like a rejection.

The kids had adjusted to Daniel’s absence in their own ways. Lee had become more protective, taking on responsibilities beyond his twelve years—helping Aaron with homework without being asked, making sure Marie had everything she needed for cheer practice. He watched Kassie carefully, as if trying to gauge how much stress she could handle before he’d need to step up even more.

Aaron filled the silence with extra jokes and energy, launching into elaborate stories about his baseball teammates or funny things that happened at school. But sometimes Kassie caught him looking toward the door during dinner, as if expecting Daniel to walk in with his usual greeting and ask about their day.

Marie had become more clingy, wanting extra bedtime stories and reassurance that the people she loved weren’t going to disappear. She’d started asking less frequently when Daniel was coming over, as if she was beginning to understand that the answer was painful for everyone involved.

“Is Daniel mad at us?” Marie asked one evening as Kassie helped her with her cheer routine in the living room.

“No, sweetheart. Daniel’s not mad at anyone. Sometimes adults need time to think about big changes.”

“But the baby is a good change, right?” Marie’s voice was small, uncertain. “Babies are supposed to make people happy.”

Kassie’s throat tightened. “Yes, baby. The baby is a very good change. And you’re going to be the best big sister.”

But even as she said it, Kassie wondered if she was lying. If Daniel couldn’t see their child as anything but a burden, maybe Marie’s innocent assumption about babies bringing happiness was wrong.

By early November, Daniel had stopped answering her calls entirely. When Kassie tried to reach him, her calls went straight to voicemail. Her texts were left on read with no response. It was as if he’d decided she and the baby simply didn’t exist.

The silence was deafening, but it was also clarifying. Kassie stopped trying to maintain contact, stopped hoping for phone calls that weren’t coming, stopped making excuses to the kids about why Daniel wasn’t around.

It was during this period of complete silence that Kassie had her last ultrasound appointment—alone. She lay on the examination table watching her baby move on the screen, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat, learning that she was carrying a daughter, and felt a mixture of joy and profound sadness that the baby’s father wasn’t there to share the moment.

“Everything looks perfect,” Dr. Martinez said, pointing out tiny fingers and toes, the baby’s profile, her healthy organs. “Do you want me to write down the s*x for you to share with the father?”

“He’s not… he’s not involved,” Kassie said quietly.

Dr. Martinez’s expression softened with understanding. She’d seen this before—women facing pregnancy alone, dealing with partners who couldn’t step up to the responsibility of parenthood.

That evening, as Kassie looked at the ultrasound photos while the kids did homework around the kitchen table, she felt compelled to try reaching Daniel one more time. Not because she expected him to care, but because she thought he should know he had a daughter on the way.

She tried calling first, unsurprised when it went to voicemail. “Daniel, it’s me. I had the last ultrasound today. Everything looks good. The baby is healthy, and… it’s a girl. I thought you should know.”

When that got no response over the next few days, she tried texting: “Had ultrasound. Baby girl is healthy and growing well. Due date still January 15th.”

Nothing.

A week passed. Then two. The silence stretched on, confirming what Kassie had been afraid to acknowledge: Daniel had completely written them off.

It was a Tuesday evening in late November when her phone finally rang with Daniel’s name on the screen. Kassie was helping Marie with a school project at the kitchen table while Aaron practiced his reading nearby and Lee worked on his own homework.

“Hello?” she answered, her heart racing despite herself.

“We need to talk.” Daniel’s voice was cold, businesslike.

“Okay,” Kassie said, stepping into the living room for privacy.

“This has to stop.”

“What has to stop?”

“The calls, the texts, the updates. I need you to understand something, and I need you to hear it clearly.” Daniel’s voice was steady, controlled, more distant than she’d ever heard it. “I don’t want this baby.”

The words hit Kassie like a physical blow. She sank onto the couch, struggling to process what he’d just said.

“Daniel—”

“No, let me finish. I know that sounds harsh, but I need to be honest. This pregnancy, this baby—it’s not what I wanted. It’s not what I planned for. And I can’t pretend otherwise anymore.”

Kassie’s hands were shaking. “But it’s your daughter. Our daughter.”

“It’s your daughter,” Daniel corrected coldly. “I never agreed to this. I never wanted to have another child, especially not now, not like this. And I can’t be forced into fatherhood just because biology happened.”

“Nobody’s forcing you—”

“Aren’t you? Every call, every text, every update about appointments and ultrasounds—it feels like you’re trying to make me into someone I’m not. Someone who wants this.”

Tears were streaming down Kassie’s face now, but she kept her voice steady. “I was trying to keep you informed about your child.”

“She’s not my child. Not in any way that matters. Yes, I’m biologically responsible for her existence, but that doesn’t make me her father. I don’t want to be her father.”

The cruelty of his words was breathtaking. Kassie looked toward the kitchen where she could hear her children working on their homework, their voices a comforting contrast to the devastation happening in this phone call.

“So what are you saying?” she asked, though she already knew.

“I’m saying I’m done. No more calls, no more updates, no more attempts to involve me in this pregnancy. I won’t be at the hospital when she’s born, I won’t be signing any birth certificates, and I won’t be playing house with a family I never wanted.”

“And what about Lee, Aaron, and Marie? They’ve been asking about you—”

“They’re not my responsibility either. They have a father. This was always temporary, Kassie. You knew that.”

The dismissal of her children, whom he’d spent three years getting to know and care about, was somehow even more devastating than his rejection of their daughter.

“I thought you loved us,” Kassie whispered.

“I thought I did too. But love isn’t enough to make me want something I fundamentally don’t want. And I don’t want this life. I don’t want the responsibility, the complications, the way it would change everything I’ve built with Lindy.”

“So you’re choosing Lindy over our daughter.”

“I’m choosing the life I already have over the one you’re trying to force on me.”

After he hung up, Kassie sat in the dark living room for a long time, trying to process the finality of what had just happened. Daniel hadn’t just said he needed space or time to think. He’d explicitly rejected their daughter, rejected any role as her father, rejected the entire family they’d built together.

“Mom?” Lee appeared in the doorway, his expression concerned. “Everything okay?”

Kassie wiped her tears and tried to compose herself. “That was Daniel. He wanted me to know he won’t be part of the baby’s life.”

Lee’s face hardened in a way that made him look much older than twelve. “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s going to be just us. All of us. The baby will have us, and we’ll take care of her just like we take care of each other.”

Lee sat down beside her on the couch. “Are you sad?”

“Yes,” Kassie said honestly. “I’m sad that the baby won’t have a daddy who loves her. But I’m not sad that we’re going to be her family. We’re going to love her so much, and she’s going to be so lucky to have you and Aaron and Marie as her big siblings.”

“What if he changes his mind?”

Kassie looked at her son, this wise, protective boy who’d already seen too much adult complexity. “He won’t. And that’s okay. We don’t need people in our lives who don’t want to be here.”

That night, after the kids were asleep, Kassie sat in the nursery she’d been preparing—the room painted yellow, the crib assembled with Marie’s help, the mobile hanging ready for a baby who would never know her biological father. She placed her hands on her belly, feeling her daughter move beneath her palms.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” she whispered. “You don’t need him. You have me, and you have Lee and Aaron and Marie, and Aunt Sarah, and that’s going to be more than enough. We’re going to love you so much that you’ll never feel like anything is missing.”

She meant every word. Daniel’s rejection hurt—it would probably always hurt—but it also freed her from months of uncertainty and false hope. She could stop waiting for him to become the father their daughter needed. She could stop hoping for a reunion that was never going to happen.

Her daughter would be born into a family that wanted her completely and unconditionally. And sometimes, that was better than being born into a family where half the parents resented your existence.

Kassie was seven months pregnant, officially single, and finally at peace with both realities. She had two months to prepare for her daughter’s arrival, and she was going to make sure everything was ready—emotionally, practically, and financially—for the little girl who deserved so much better than the father who’d rejected her before she was even born.