Chapter 3After Five Years as a Stay-at-Home Husband

The weather turned colder, and Lily's preschool was about to break for the winter holidays.

Maybe my breakdown in the park had shaken him, because the new phone he'd bought never lit up.

But I couldn't shake the unease coiling in my gut.

One evening after dinner, while Lily was playing in the living room, I brought it up.

"Mike, I'm up for a promotion. After the New Year, I might be transferred to the head office in Bridgewater to be a department director. I was thinking we could all move there together."

"My parents are in Bridgewater anyway," I continued, rambling on. "We wouldn't have to come back. We can just put the house here on the market."

"The schools are better there, too. It would be a better environment for Lily to grow up in…"

He was unusually quiet for a long time. But in the end, he agreed.

That night, the new phone disappeared from his drawer.

He took Lily out for a walk that lasted an hour.

Watching him from the window, carrying our daughter back towards the building, I told myself that once they had no more excuses, no more opportunities to see each other, everything would be fine. Mike would be my Mike again.

Due to work commitments, I took Lily to Bridgewater ahead of schedule. I left her with my parents while I sorted out her school enrollment. Mike stayed behind to handle the sale of our house, planning to join us in a couple of days.

Two days later, he called. "I've found a buyer," he said, "but they're being difficult about a few things. I'm trying to negotiate. I'll be there the day after tomorrow."

I could hear the supposed buyer in the background, loudly picking apart our home.

I didn't doubt him. I just told him to take care of himself and to dress warmly.

The next day was Mike's birthday.

That afternoon, Lily and I video-called him to sing "Happy Birthday."

But later that night, after working late, I came home to an empty apartment, and the loneliness hit me like a tidal wave. I missed him so much it was a physical ache.

We hadn't been apart this long in years, and especially not on his birthday.

I booked a flight for that same night, took a few days off work, and decided to fly back to surprise him. I’d help him finish up with the house, and we’d come back together.

My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat of longing.

I landed, grabbed a taxi, and even stopped to buy a birthday cake. I practically ran the whole way back to our building.

Standing downstairs, I saw the warm, yellow glow of light in our apartment window.

It was late. Normally, he'd be in bed by now, holding me.

I pressed the elevator button several times, but one of the cars was stuck on the 16th floor—our floor.

With no time to think, I bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, my lungs burning by the time I reached the top.

Our front door was slightly ajar.

The apartment was a mess, probably from the packing. I smiled to myself, tiptoeing toward the bedroom, planning my surprise.

But my next step never landed. I was frozen in place.