some things can be challenging

Chapter 8

Tim

 I ache for Lucy every day. It's been so hard trying to reach out to her, only to be met with avoidance. I don't blame her; I know I messed up big time. That's why I decided to start therapy again —I needed to learn how to handle my emotions better, especially in situations like this. I made sure to find a therapist with good reviews and was not a psychopath criminal, someone who could help me sort through my feelings without judgment.

But despite my efforts, the pain of knowing I hurt Lucy lingers. I still love her deeply, and it tears me apart knowing that my actions broke her heart. All I've ever wanted is to be a father, and the fact that it's with her fills me with both joy and regret. Will she ever want to reconcile after everything I've put her through? It's a question that haunts me every day.

As the weeks of Lucy's pregnancy tick by—I think she must be around 15 or 16 weeks now—I feel the absence of sharing this journey with her keenly. Seeing her start to show, knowing our baby is growing inside her, fills me with a mixture of longing and sorrow. I want nothing more than to be there for her, to witness every milestone, and to support her through every moment.

I know Lucy wants me to be a part of our daughter's life. Despite her seeming to push me away, I understand now that it's because I gave her the impression I didn't care about her pregnancy—that I didn't want to be involved. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I was lost in my own self-loathing, consumed by thoughts of how I could have been a better boyfriend, and how I could have treated her with the love and respect she deserved. In my confusion and guilt, I pushed her away, and now I'm paying the price.

I dream of the day when Lucy and I can sit down together when I can hold her hand and tell her how sorry I am, how much I want to make things right. I yearn for the chance to show her that I'm ready to be the father our daughter needs and that I'm committed to being the partner she deserves. But I also fear that I've hurt her too deeply, that my mistakes may have irreparably damaged what we once had.

Every night, I find myself staring at the ceiling, replaying memories of Lucy and me—of happier times, of moments when our love felt unbreakable. I pray that somehow, someday, we'll find our way back to each other. Until then, I'll keep trying to better myself, to prove that I can be the man she needs, the father our daughter deserves.

***

Early in the morning, just before roll call, I spotted Lucy entering the elevator. Her choice of attire accentuated her small, growing bump, but what struck me more was the absence of her usual spark, as if all her happiness had been drained. It was a moment that stirred something deep within me—a need to bridge the distance I had allowed to grow between us.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I followed her into the elevator and quietly activated the emergency stop. I could sense her apprehension, but I knew this was a risk worth taking. Without a word, I turned to her and enveloped her in a warm embrace. To my relief, she didn't pull away; instead, she leaned into the hug, and I felt the weight of our shared emotions in the tears that welled up in both our eyes.

"Lucy, please," I began, my voice trembling with sincerity as I held her close. "I know you're upset with me, and I understand why. But I need you to hear me out, just like you did for me when I needed comfort."

Her eyes met mine, silently urging me to continue. "I reacted the way I did because I was furious with myself. Angry that I put you in a position where you were alone, where you had to risk everything to save me," I confessed, my heart laid bare. "And when you told me about the pregnancy, I... I couldn't respond. I sent you away, and it broke me to see you so hurt. I love you, Lucy, more than words can say. But at that moment, I was lost in my own self-reflection, unable to find the right words. I'm so sorry."

The vulnerability in her eyes mirrored my own pain, but I pressed on, desperate to convey the depth of my feelings. "I know it won't be easy to earn back your trust, and I don't expect things to magically be okay. But Lucy, I want to be in our daughter's life more than anything. Being a father is all I've ever dreamed of. I've missed you terribly, and not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about you."

Her response was hesitant, her voice wavering as she struggled to find the right words. "Tim... I want you to be part of our daughter's life," she admitted softly. "I'm just... still so hurt. I need time to process everything."

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and hope. We held each other in another embrace, silently acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of healing. As the elevator doors slid open, I released the emergency stop, allowing us to step out into a new day—a day where perhaps we could start rebuilding what we had lost.

"This could be a good thing," I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Maybe we're slowly finding our way back to each other."

Lucy managed a tentative smile in return, her eyes shimmering with cautious optimism. "Maybe," she agreed softly as we walked down the hallway together.

At that moment, despite the uncertainties that lay ahead, I dared to believe that our journey wasn't over—that there was still hope for us, for our daughter, and for the love we once shared.