The babysitter

Tim's Guilt

Lucy noticed it first on a Tuesday morning, three weeks after her emotional breakdown at the station. She was standing at the kitchen counter, nibbling on dry toast to ward off the morning sickness, when Tim walked in already dressed for work.

"Morning," she said, offering him a smile.

"Morning," he replied, but his response felt automatic, distant. He moved around her to get to the coffee maker, but there was something deliberate about the way he maintained space between them.

It was subtle—so subtle that Lucy almost convinced herself she was imagining it. But over the next few days, she began to notice a pattern. Tim was still Tim—still helpful, still attentive to her needs, still the devoted father to Emma and Evan. But there was a wall there that hadn't been before, an invisible barrier that left Lucy feeling like she was reaching for someone who kept stepping just out of reach.

"Daddy, will you read to me?" Emma asked one evening, climbing into Tim's lap with her favorite book.

"Of course, sweetheart," Tim said, and his voice was warm and engaged in a way that made Lucy's chest tighten. He was fully present for the kids, fully himself. It was only with her that he seemed to pull back.

Lucy tried to push the feeling away, telling herself it was just her hormones making her oversensitive. But by Friday, she couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Everything okay?" she asked that night as they got ready for bed. Tim was already under the covers, scrolling through his phone with a focus that seemed forced.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he said without looking up. "Just tired."

"Are you sure? You seem..." Lucy paused, trying to find the right words. "Distant. Like something's bothering you."

Tim finally looked at her, and for a moment, she saw something flicker across his face—guilt, maybe, or regret. But then it was gone, replaced by that same careful neutrality.

"I'm fine, Lucy. Really. Just work stuff."

But Lucy knew Tim's work stress, knew how he carried it, how he processed it. This wasn't work stress. This was something else entirely.

The weekend didn't improve things. If anything, Tim seemed to retreat further into himself. He was helpful with the kids, taking them to the park so Lucy could rest, handling bedtime routines without being asked. But when it came to the two of them, he was polite, considerate, and completely unreachable.

Sunday night, Lucy lay in bed listening to Tim's breathing, knowing from the pattern that he wasn't asleep despite the late hour. She wanted to reach for him, to bridge whatever gap had opened between them, but she didn't know how. Every time she tried to talk to him, he deflected. Every time she reached out, he found a reason to be somewhere else.

By Monday morning, Lucy was exhausted from more than just the pregnancy. She felt like she was losing her husband one polite interaction at a time.

"You look terrible," Angela observed as Lucy slumped into her desk chair.

"Thanks," Lucy said dryly. "That's exactly what every pregnant woman wants to hear."

"You know what I mean," Angela said, studying Lucy's face. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I haven't," Lucy admitted. "Not really."

"Morning sickness getting worse?"

Lucy shook her head. "It's not that. It's..." She paused, glancing around the bullpen to make sure no one was listening. "It's Tim."

Angela's eyebrows shot up. "Tim? What about Tim?"

"He's been acting weird all week," Lucy said, her voice low. "Distant. Like he's here but not really here, you know?"