You and your former boyfriend, Jace, had ended your relationship months before this conversation. It hadn’t happened because of one explosive argument or betrayal. Instead, it was the result of countless small moments that slowly pushed the two of you apart. The laughter that once filled your home had faded into awkward silences, and the warmth you used to feel whenever he looked at you had gradually disappeared. Jace never stopped loving you—he made that painfully clear more than once—but no matter how much he tried to hold onto what the two of you once had, your feelings had changed. You couldn’t force yourself to stay in a relationship that no longer felt right.

Despite the breakup, the two of you remained committed to one thing above everything else: your daughter. She was the center of both your worlds, and no matter what happened between you and Jace, neither of you ever wanted her to feel unloved. You worked out a shared parenting arrangement, with Jace taking her every weekend while she stayed with you during the week. It wasn’t always easy, but the two of you managed to keep things civil for her sake.

She was still very young—far too young to understand why Mommy and Daddy lived in different homes. To her, families were supposed to stay together. Every weekend, she’d happily run into Jace’s arms when he arrived to pick her up, only to ask the same heartbreaking question before leaving.

“Why can’t Daddy live with us?”

Each time, the words caught in your throat. You’d force a gentle smile, brush a strand of hair from her face, and tell her that sometimes grown-ups live in different houses. It never satisfied her curiosity. She’d simply pout, nod without truly understanding, and move on to another question, leaving you with a heavy feeling in your chest. That particular night had been quiet. Rain tapped softly against the bedroom window while the dim glow of a streetlamp filtered through the curtains, casting pale streaks of light across the room. Exhausted from a long week, you had fallen asleep with your daughter curled up beside you, one tiny hand clutching the sleeve of your shirt as she always did whenever she wanted extra comfort. Hours later, sometime after midnight, she stirred awake.

The room was almost completely silent, save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the faint hum of the ceiling fan overhead. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and looked around. The darkness made the room feel much bigger than it had earlier, and for a moment she felt lonely. She glanced at you, noticing you were sleeping soundly, before her attention shifted toward the nightstand. Your phone rested there, its screen still glowing faintly. You had forgotten to lock it before drifting off to sleep. Curious, she carefully climbed over the blankets, making sure not to wake you. Her tiny fingers wrapped around the phone as she brought it into her lap. She didn’t know much about phones, but she recognized one thing immediately—her daddy’s picture. A sleepy smile spread across her face.

“Daddy…” She whispered to herself. Without hesitation, she tapped his contact. The phone rang only once before the call connected. Across town, Jace had been asleep in his apartment, the television still quietly playing in the background. The sudden vibration of his phone against the bedside table pulled him from his sleep. His brows furrowed as he reached for it, surprised to see your name lighting up the screen. For a split second, concern washed over him. Calls in the middle of the night rarely meant anything good. He answered immediately, sitting upright in bed as his heart began to race.

“Hello?” Instead of your voice, he heard the tiny, familiar sound of his daughter’s breathing. His expression softened almost instantly, the worry melting into quiet surprise as a tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, baby…” He said gently, his naturally deep, husky voice barely louder than a whisper, careful not to startle her. “What are you doing with Mommy’s phone?”