A/N: See? I've actually been working on stuff. Eventually, I'll even get around to updating The Space Between. One day. Anyway, enjoy.

August 4, 2020

Adam slowly washed the dinner dishes. Joan had gotten Hannah down for the night an hour ago. When it was Simon's turn, he'd held his pudgy arms out to his mother. Smiling, Joan had scooped him up and told to kiss his daddy good night, which Simon obligingly did, before carrying him off to bed. That was fifteen minutes ago. In an effort to occupy himself as much as to be helpful, Adam had ambled to the kitchen to clean up.

Unfortunately, dishwashing was a fairly mindless endeavor and didn't distract him from his thoughts at all. After four years of working year-round at the university and trying to balance his professional life with his young family and still have a semblance of a personal life, Adam had finally taken a summer off. Limiting himself to no more than three days a week in his studio, Adam had spent the time with Joan and the kids and reconnecting with friends. Despite feeling like he could breathe for the first time since moving to New York, a sense of dissatisfaction with his life plagued him. The feeling had only grown over the last few weeks. With an inward sigh, Adam turned his attention back to the dishes.

He was rinsing off the glasses when Joan's arms slipped around his waist. Pressing against his back, she gave a low sigh and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Thanks," she said softly.

"For what?"

"Doing the dishes."

Patting her hands, he said, "You're welcome. Simon asleep?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured and kissed the side of his neck. "You want help with that?"

"I'm good," Adam replied with a shake of his head.

They fell silent. He enjoyed Joan's closeness, her heat seeping into him, the gentle aura of love that enveloped him. But he still felt something wasn't right. And he hated to admit what it was, even to himself.

Joan gave him a little squeeze and slid her hands up his back to his shoulders. "Why are you so tense?" she asked as she began to massage his neck.

"No reason," he said, hoping to avoid an in-depth discussion.

For a moment, he thought Joan wasn't going to pursue the conversation. She simply leaned into the massage, moving to his shoulders and gradually making her way down his back. Her hands were just above his waist when she said, "You've been quiet lately. Really quiet."

He didn't answer, choosing to focus on the pan she'd roasted the chicken in instead.

"Please tell me what's bothering you."

His shoulders slumped. She sounded so concerned. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talk about what?"

"Just drop it, Jane. Please?"

"Can't you just tell me?"

Adam shook his head.

"Why not?" she asked, the concern in her voice taking a sharp, desperate edge.

He dried his hands and braced them on the sides of the sink, disturbed by what he heard in his wife's voice. Instantly, he knew that she'd been silently worrying about him, probably waiting for him to open up to her voluntarily. Now she couldn't wait any longer and Adam knew she'd just pester him until he cracked. What he didn't know was how he could share his thoughts with her without making her think less of him. Taking a deep breath, he admitted, "I don't want to say it out loud."

"Why?"

"Because it won't make it better."

"Brooding about it by yourself won't make it better either," Joan pointed out as she wrapped her arms around him again. "Tell me. Let me help make it better."

Laying his hands over hers, Adam straightened and took a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally, he whispered, "I'm a bad father, Jane."

Her incredulous gasp tickled the back of his neck, making him shudder. "What?"

"I-I'm . . ." he paused. He couldn't make himself repeat the words. "You heard me."

"You are not a bad father, Adam," she stated fiercely.

He shrugged. He'd expected her to say that, even if it wasn't true.

"Hey. Look at me," she demanded. When he didn't move, Joan turned him toward her. Adam focused his eyes on the slope of her shoulder. Gently, she took his face in her hands and forced him to meet her gaze. "What ever made you think such a thing?"

"It's just true," he said, looking away from her.

"No, it . . ."

"Yeah. It is." Now that he'd admitted his inadequacy, all the thoughts he'd been trying to ignore came together in his mind. "I don't know my own kids, Jane."

"That's not true."

"I don't know who their friends are," Adam began, ticking each item off on his fingers. "I don't know their friends' parents or how they spend their days or what their favorite foods or toys are. Before this summer, I couldn't have told you what Simon's favorite book or color or cartoon character was."

"That doesn't necessarily make you a bad father, honey," Joan began only to be interrupted.

"Doesn't it? A good parent knows these things. You know these things."

"Yeah, but that's because I'm with them all the time."

"Exactly," he exclaimed, collapsing against the sink and folding his arms across his chest. "You spend time with the kids. I don't."

"You have a lot on your plate right now." She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to reply. "Hear me out. You have a very involved job. You're taking those doctorate classes to improve your career while trying not to neglect your art. Then there's me and the kids and our friends and our families back home. There's only so much you can do and only so much time you can do it in. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Adam smiled at Joan and brushed a hand over her cheek but shook his head anyway. "It doesn't work that way, Jane. None of that is an excuse for not knowing our children."

"You're the sole provider in the house, Adam . . ."

"So what?" he asked. "That gives me a free pass to ignore Simon and Hannah?"

"Of course, not. I never said . . ."

"Then what are you saying, Jane?"

"If you'd let me finish a sentence, maybe I'd tell you," she yelled. Joan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in her temper. He also suspected she was listening to see if Hannah had awakened. Simon could sleep through a disaster, but it took next to nothing to wake their daughter. Finally, she opened her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I'm sorry I kept interrupting."

Joan dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand before stepping closer and laying a hand on his cheek. "What I was trying to say is that you and I have very clear, very separate roles in the family. You make sure we have everything we need and I take care of the kids. That's what we agreed to."

"No, Jane. We agreed to you being a stay-at-home mom until you felt comfortable going back to work," he corrected. "We never agreed that I'd be exempted from taking part in Simon and Hannah's lives."

"But you're not exempted."

"Isn't that what you just did?"

She stared up at him, speechless. Adam saw tears forming in her eyes, but she blinked them back before that could fall. Finally, she said, "You do spend time with them, though."

"But not enough," he said, drawing her into his arms. "Simon made that perfectly clear a couple weeks ago."

"I don't understand. What happened?"

"Do you remember when he started insisting you put him to bed and then wouldn't go to sleep?"

"How could I forget?" she asked. "The endless stories and songs and shadow puppets—it was awful. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I talked to him—asked him why he kept insisting you put him to bed only to refuse to go to sleep."

"What did he say?"

"He said he missed you."

Joan frowned at him. "Missed me? How could he possibly miss me when he's with me all day?"

"He thought that you didn't care as much about him as you used to because you paid so much attention to Hannah," Adam said quietly.

"But we talked about it," Joan muttered, almost to herself.

Adam shrugged and kissed her forehead. "I'm just telling you what he told me."

Joan sighed. Eventually, she asked, "So?"

"So what?"

"What does Simon's missing me have to do with you thinking you're not a good dad?"

"Since bedtime was my duty, practically the only time I have with him, I asked him if he didn't miss me. He looked me in the eye and said 'I miss Mommy.'" Adam looked down at the glass pendant around Joan's neck. A picture of Simon and Hannah was in it this year. "He willingly sacrificed what little time he spends with me to be with you. It didn't even occur to him to miss me because he doesn't know me. I'm a familiar stranger to him. I don't want that kind of relationship with them, Jane."

He'd expected Joan to argue with him. Instead she hugged him. Closing his eyes, Adam hugged her back.

When she pulled back several minutes later, she kissed his chin and gave him a contrite smile. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, taken aback.

"For my part in this."

"You didn't . . ." he began only to stop at the pointed look she was giving him.

"I haven't really let you share the child-raising responsibilities with me," Joan admitted sheepishly. "I guess I thought that taking care of them was my contribution to the family since I wasn't working. It became my domain and I didn't want to share it because I would have felt like I was getting off easy. I never stopped to think about how that affected you, so I'm sorry."

He gave her a lop-sided smile. He should have known she'd try to absolve him of his guilt. "I let it happen, Jane. This is my fault, not yours."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"My fault," he repeated, grasping her chin and capturing her gaze. "Not yours."

Joan clearly wanted to argue the point, but instead asked, "So what are you going to do? I know you've been thinking about it."

"Well, I think I'm going to stop taking doctorate classes."

"What about your career?"

"It's never been my lifelong dream to be a college professor, Jane. You know that. I was only taking the classes because Marcus thought I should. I think he's trying to groom me to take his place in the department. That's not what I want."

"Are you thinking of quitting?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"No," he said with a laugh, "but no more classes. From now on—well, spring semester on—I'm going to try to arrange things so that I'm home more."

"And your art?"

"I want to focus on it more than I have recently, but, right now, being home with you and the kids is more important. I don't know when it happened, but my priorities have gotten completely screwed up. I feel like I've put everything else on the back burner for this job and . . ." Adam trailed off with a sigh.

"What do you need me to do?"

He rested his arms on her shoulders and tunneled his fingers into her hair, stroking the sensitive area behind her ears with his thumbs. "Just be patient with me. Maybe give me some pointers here and there."

Joan chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Okay."

"Okay." Adam gently tugged her to him and brushed his lips over hers. "I'm going to finish the dishes."

"I'll do it," she said.

"You don't have to."

"I want to." She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder briefly before letting him go and turning to the dishes. Joan plunged her hands in the dishwater, made a noise of disgust, and dumped the water. As she refilled the dishpan, he moved toward the living room. He'd just reached the doorway when he heard her say, "Adam?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning toward her.

"Simon told me you got a bunch of books about being a big brother and having a new baby in the family. He said you read him the stories for weeks. He also said that you said you had just as many questions."

"Well, he asked me," he answered.

"Whenever he shows you a new picture or project he made," she continued as she turned off the facet and began to wash dishes, "you stop whatever you're doing and look it over. You praise it and ask questions, and suggest new things for him to try."

Adam shrugged. "If I know anything, it's art."

"And even though the flying monkeys freak you out, you watched The Wizard of Oz with him when I was too tired to do it. Hannah loves it when you play with her. And when you remembered to get up with me when she cried at night, you'd make me go back to bed as soon as I finished feeding her then sing her to sleep."

"What's your point, Jane?"

"My point," she said, drying her hands as she turned toward him, "is that bad fathers don't do those things."

"Those are just isolated events . . ."

"No." Joan crossed the kitchen and stood before him. "Those are examples of how you are with the kids. You are patient, gentle, and loving with them. You treat Simon's problems as seriously as you do yours or mine. You absolutely adore Hannah. Just like other good daddies, you'd bend over backwards for them if you had to."

"Maybe . . ."

"There is no maybe about it, Adam. You are not a bad father. Stop looking only at the things you don't know or haven't done and start acknowledging all the good things about your relationship with them. Yeah, we could all do better, even me. But you're not doing as bad as you think."

"Thanks for that," he said softly after a long moment.

"I mean it."

"I know." He gave her a reassuring smile when she glanced at him skeptically. "I'm going to go draw a bath. Join me when you're done here?"

Joan sighed, clearly unhappy about being unable to convince him that his parenting skills didn't suck. But she smiled up at him and nodded. "Sure."

Adam pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered back. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Nodding, he left the kitchen and made his way to their bathroom. His mind was filled with ways to improve his connection to his family. Joan may not think anything was wrong, and she may be right, but he wasn't satisfied with things simply being okay. He was determined that things were going to get better. Much, much better.

April 3, 2021

Dear Jane,

I've never told you this, but one of my primary motivators is you. The thought of that proud, delighted look in your eyes, the one that says you knew I could do it all along, has driven me to accomplish things I didn't think I could do. One of the worst things I can imagine is looking in your eyes and seeing disappointment in me reflected in them.

For the first time, I'm the one who's disappointed in me and knows that I can do better. I may be living up to your expectations as a father to our children, but I shouldn't. You should expect more of me. I know that you said I'm not a bad father and I accept that that's true. But not being a bad father isn't good enough, Jane. The kids deserve better and you deserve a real partner. You'll probably read this and think that I'm just putting undue stress on myself. I'm not. I just don't want the kids to grow up with a vague idea of who I am. And I don't want you to ever resent me for not being there and helping you raise them like I should.

So I've made a decision. You've probably already noticed that I've made some changes. They all stem from one idea: I'm choosing to make you and the kids my first priority. Nothing else matters as much as our family. You made that decision once. Now it's my turn. That means I'll be more involved. That also means that you won't be doing it alone anymore. I never want you to feel alone.

I also never want you to feel held back in any way. Since Simon was born, you've put your needs and dreams on the back burner. It's been slowly eating away at you ever since. The time has come for you to step out into the world again, Jane, and share your light the way you were meant to. You said that you could improve as a parent as well. The best way for you to do that is by taking care of whatever is missing in your life. Don't worry about the kids and me; whatever you can't do, I'll do for you. We're a team, you and I. It's time we started acting like it, for our sake as well as the kids'.

I love you more than I ever thought possible, Jane. Happy anniversary.

Adam