Chapter Four
Mark stood in the living room, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the floor like the hardwood was a fascinating puzzle.
Tessa sat on the couch, arms crossed, her face composed.
The kids were scattered around: Michael slouched in the armchair, Chrissy curled up with a throw pillow, Luke cross-legged on the rug, chewing his lip.
He had spent the night at a hotel, convincing himself that time and space would soften Tessa's anger.
He'd even taken the day off work, hoping she would be calmer, ready to listen and talk things out.
The conversation had not gone as he expected yesterday.
She had been understandably shocked and upset, but he had thought that they would have some discussion, that she would see that he was conflicted and confused and hear him out.
One of the things he had always admired about her was her empathy and listening skills, her ability to hear what wasn't said and offer insight and sympathy.
She had never been one to lash out or leave things unresolved.
She believed in talking things out, that there was always a way to calmly come to a peaceful resolution.
That was not the Tessa he encountered yesterday, however. Yesterday, she had shut him down and kicked him out when he wanted to explain himself further. His calls went to voicemail, his texts left unread.
When he tried again that morning to see if they could meet and talk, she answered her phone, her voice frosty and clipped.
No, she did not want to continue yesterday's conversation, but he could stop by to pack a few things while she was out picking up the kids, and then he could explain to them why he wasn't going to be living at home.
Before he could respond, she ended the call.
And now she gestured to him as he stood there awkwardly in front of the kids, "Your dad has something to tell you," she said, her voice tight.
Mark cleared his throat. "I... uh... I'm going to be staying somewhere else for a while."
"Why?" Michael asked instantly, his ten-year-old brow furrowing. "Did you and Mom have a fight?"
Mark glanced at Tessa; she didn't rescue him. "We've been having some problems," he said slowly. "We need a little time apart to work on them."
Chrissy's eyes went wide. "Are you getting a divorce?"
"No." The word came too quickly. "No, sweetheart. That's not the plan. We just... need some space right now."
Luke frowned. "But who's gonna help me finish my Lego monster truck if you're not here?"
Mark swallowed. "I will, Luke. I'll still see you all the time. We'll do weekends together. This isn't goodbye."
Michael stared at his shoes. "Jason's dad said that too... but now he hardly ever shows up. What if you stop coming too?"
Mark startled, the realization hitting hard that he had planted doubt and insecurity in his normally cheerful, placid son.
At ten years old, Michael should not have to question his dad's commitment to him.
"Hey, look at me. I'm not Jason's dad. I'm your dad.
And no matter what, I'll be there—at your games, at school, on weekends. You can count on that."
Michael gave a small nod, but his eyes were still clouded with doubt.
When it was over, he hugged them each—Luke clinging tight to his neck, Chrissy holding on longer than usual, Michael giving a quick, awkward squeeze before bolting upstairs to his room.
Then Mark picked up a single duffel bag and walked out.
He didn't look back until he was in the car.
When he did, Tessa was standing in the front window, her expression stoic.