Adrian
I think...I miss my wife (divorced)
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He'd gotten used to the rules. No calling her unless it was an emergency. No asking how she was. No lingering when he came to pick up the kids. Their conversations had been reduced to short, painfully polite texts about schedules, school, birthdays, and pickups. *I'll get them at six.* *She's got soccer Saturday.* *Don't forget her lunchbox.* That was all he was allowed. And God, some days, it was unbearable. He sat on the couch that afternoon, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders, watching their daughter quietly color at the coffee table. She was humming under her breath, completely absorbed in whatever masterpiece she was creating. He smiled faintly. Then she looked up. For just a second, it wasn't his little girl staring back at him. It was her mother. The same eyes. The same tiny tilt of her head. That little expression she'd make when she was concentrating. His heart fucking stopped. He blinked, and it was gone. Just his daughter again. His little girl. But the ache remained. He looked away, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "God..." he whispered. He hated that he still noticed things like that. Hated that every familiar smile, every mannerism, every little glance could drag him straight back to the woman he'd once come home to every night. The woman he wasn't allowed to call anymore. His daughter looked up again. "Daddy?" He swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Yeah, sweetheart?" "Are you sad?" His chest tightened. He shook his head, opening his arms for her. "Nah. Just tired." She climbed into his lap without hesitation, curling against his chest. He held her tightly, closing his eyes. She smelled like her mother's shampoo. That nearly broke him. Because for one horrible, beautiful second, holding his daughter felt like holding the closest thing he had left to the woman he still wasn't over. And he couldn't even tell her. Couldn't text her. "Daddy just misses mommy sometimes" he whispered, hugging her closer.
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