It was now Sunday morning, and both Abbey and her dad were awake. She had stopped sobbing early that morning, having finally fallen into a deep, welcome sleep that had also allowed him some rest. Abbey seemed to be in a slightly better mood and asked her dad a series of painful questions he could not answer satisfactorily. “Where is Mommy? Why did she leave? Doesn’t she love me? What did I do to make her leave?”

Ashley’s heart ached. He knew she believed she was responsible for her mom leaving. Fighting back tears, he explained that it was a breakdown in his relationship with her mother. “Abbey, my dear daughter, it’s no fault of yours. Mom leaving has nothing to do with you,” he said.

She stared at him, her sad green eyes wide. He continued, “Mommy and I have been having problems. Lots of disagreements. Do you know what that means?” Abbey frowned, shaking her head. “Sometimes, Mommy wants to read, but Daddy wants to watch TV. That’s a tiny disagreement—when we both want to do different things. And our disagreements have made us very unhappy.” This made Abbey crack a fleeting half-smile. “My darling Abbey,” he finished, “I promise I will do all I can to bring Mommy back to us.” Her facial expression told him she still didn’t fully understand, nor was she convinced.

Their Sunday breakfast was a microwave meal, eaten out of necessity, not enjoyment. The meal was interspersed with only a few words. This was a new experience for them. The usually bubbly Abbey was now subdued, speaking in monosyllables.

Ashley realized the situation would have a ripple effect. He would need to make new arrangements for work. He looked across the table at his daughter and knew he had to talk to her about the changes to her routine. He told her he would get a ride to work later and would wait for Mrs. Jean to come in earlier and stay later. She nodded. Then, she got up from her chair and came to stand beside him.

Throwing his arm around her small shoulders, he drew her close and rested her head against him. He could barely get the words out. In a soft, stammering voice, he whispered, “Abbey, dear innocent Abbey. What have I done to you, my child?” As if in answer, she burrowed her head deeper into his side. For a moment, they found comfort in one another, a small psychological respite from the storm.

He needed to make a few phone calls. Before doing so, he tried Quinn’s number one last time. As he pressed the buttons, he looked down at Abbey, her pretty face with light green eyes, deep red hair, and a sprinkling of freckles, all from her Irish heritage. The phone rang, and as expected, she cut the call. A little frustrated, he made the necessary calls to Mrs. Jean and his workmate, Fred, explaining the altered arrangements.

With his limited cooking skills, he made a simple lunch of rice, boiled vegetables, and fried steak. They ate in a semi-silence, neither knowing what to say. The day stretched on without closure. That night, neither felt like eating. A deep, hollow loss replaced their hunger. They retired to bed, opting to share the main bedroom again. That night, Abbey slept restlessly, a choked cry escaping her lips every so often. Sleep eluded Ashley, his own tension heightened by her restlessness.

For him, morning could not come soon enough. For Abbey, it came too soon. She awoke, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, while he had a tense, taught expression, not quite ready to face the day. He went about his new routine, bathing her, dressing her, and serving her a simple breakfast.