“Because you weren't here.”
The answer came too quickly.
Claire stared.
Nathan immediately tried again.
“I don't mean that as blame.”
“It sounded like blame.”
“I know.”
Claire looked down.
Lily had tied one shoe incorrectly herself while the adults argued.
Claire crouched.
Fixed it.
Her hands shook.
Nathan continued.
“You leave before seven three days a week.”
“I know my schedule.”
“I’m home.”
“I know.”
“Lily pushes limits differently with me.”
Claire looked up.
“She is five.”
“I know.”
“She misses you.”
“I’m aware.”
“She gets anxious.”
“I know.”
Nathan laughed bitterly.
“Do you?”
Claire stood.
“What?”
“You come home and get the version of her who runs into your arms.”
“You don't get breakfast refusal.”
“The screaming when cartoons go off.”
“The kicking.”
“She kicked you?”
“Once.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I handled it.”
Claire stared toward the hallway.
“Yes.”
Nathan shook his head.
“No.”
“That isn't fair.”
“Fair?”
“I have been doing everything here for six months.”
Claire froze.
There was the argument underneath the argument.
Nathan had lost his job in December when the regional bank he worked for eliminated almost his entire division.
Before that, childcare had been divided between a preschool program, Claire’s mother, and whichever parent finished work first.
After the layoff, Nathan insisted they stop paying for afternoon childcare.
“We don't need it if I’m home.”
At first Claire thought it might be good.
Nathan had missed much of Lily’s toddler years while traveling.
Now he would have time.
Six months later, Nathan was cooking dinner almost every night, doing laundry, school pickup, appointments, groceries.
He also applied for jobs.
Interviewed.
Got rejected.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Claire knew he was struggling.
She knew his patience had shortened.
She knew shame had started living in him like a second heartbeat.
She did not know he had created a locked “calm-down room” for their child.
Nathan continued:
“You come home and ask why the kitchen isn't clean.”
“I ask because you're home.”
“I am also parenting.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Claire looked toward Lily.
“This is not the conversation.”
Nathan stopped.
Right.
Lily.
The child had started picking at the edge of one fingernail.
Claire lifted her.
“We’re leaving.”
Nathan nodded.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
His face tightened.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Take my child and refuse to tell me when she's coming home.”
Claire stared.
“She was behind a locked door crying when I got here.”
“I know.”