We want to focus on the present and be in each other’s lives.

So I called her to spend time together with her and our daughter, and also to explore our deepest desires. She agreed, though she didn’t promise, and said our daughter was her priority. Till the Mountains, things were all right. But there were questions in her mind.

Our conversations turned layered—sometimes interesting, sometimes tense. The relationship between me and our daughter was harder. She wasn’t liking my presence, and when I tried to explain—saying that her behavior was a reflection of her mother’s energy—she took it against me. That was another buildup. Later she sent long messages saying it comes from DNA. I said I partially agreed.

Then, in the Valleys, the situation shifted again. We realized we couldn’t stay in the new place and moved to an inn. I was busy with work instead of spending time with her and our daughter. Outwardly, we were fine, doing regular things. But under the surface, we developed a strange energy: I would call out to her, make small noises, asking her to come to me—because I couldn’t hold our daughter without her crying. It irritated her, and I also took it as a setback, as if I was coming between them. We both felt the weight of it.

She was also irritated with my work, since I wasn’t giving her clear answers. The inn wasn’t good, but it was enough to sleep. It wasn’t exactly struggle—maybe privilege was at play—but it added to the buildup. I heard her complaints, while I expected her to support me. We were intimate that night, but I also called her a spiritual burden, which made her distant the next day. Things kept building. Later at a café, after a drink, I asked her to leave because someone was waiting for me. I went down, paid the bill, and planned to come back to pick her up—but she took it personally.

The buildup grew heavier. We couldn’t hold space for real conversation. When we moved out for food, sometimes I wandered off. She felt unprotected in small ways, like not securing food for herself. I found it strange that she could search online for DNA theories and relationship advice, but not order food. It irritated me, especially since another person nearby didn’t step in to help her. Another layer added.

Then came a big break. I was away for nearly six hours for work. When I returned, she said we were done, that we were a spiritual burden, and that I didn’t see our daughter as my own. I wanted to hug her, to comfort and care for her. But things dissolved. She later tried to shift back to the inn, worried about space, which was good. There was another bed in the room, but instead she chose to move to a hotel. I was put off, and I didn’t try to stop her either.

She wandered around the Valleys. When I saw her after being two hours late, our conversation turned negative again. She said she wanted to meet someone from her past, someone who had once blocked her. Then she admitted she had drunk wine and made out with him last time. Hearing this disappointed me. I was sharing my life, my friends, my work—yet she hadn’t shared this. It was depressing.

Our connection grew more standoffish. Late appearances, little conversation. I feared: is this the rest of my life? I stopped wanting to explain myself because it took too much energy. Silence filled the space, and our daughter appeared between us.

At one point, I brought up desires we had once spoken of—threesomes, experiments. It wasn’t to provoke but to share what had been an underlying factor. But by then, the time for that had passed.

She grew upset that I didn’t communicate what I was doing. Could she not see it? Maybe I should have been clearer. Maybe she couldn’t handle all of it. By the time we reached the River, I had already said things to irritate her, to make her run in circles. She also said things back. But it was my fault—I should have calmed her down.

At the River, things briefly cleared. We shared the same bed, physical, normal. There were still things we needed to talk about. And I was leaving soon.

When I left, we argued again. She didn’t like what I said about another woman, because it provoked her. She reminded me sharply about how I communicate with our daughter. Maybe I deserved it. She waved her hand at me, said hurtful things about child support. I felt bad.

On top of that, she met the same man again, despite not liking his habits. I feared what that meant—for her, for our daughter. My instincts as a father kicked in. I didn’t mind if she slept with him—that was her life. But I didn’t want our daughter to feel her mother had done something terrible.

I later learned she probably had been close with him. Sweet words, gestures, validation—things she didn’t get from me. Maybe he gave her comfort. She eventually admitted that she had spooned with him. She told me she was going to hide this from me for the rest of her life, but in the end she said it. That honesty brought us back together for a while, and she cried, relieved that there was no game in it.

Still, things had changed. He had entered our energy field. She said nothing happened beyond that, but the possibility lingered.

Meanwhile, I tried to share my truth—that because of my past, I felt resistance. I wanted to close my old wounds before moving forward with her. She wanted me to jump immediately. I wasn’t sure I could. I told her patience was needed, though she was free to go her own way if she didn’t want to wait.

I was juggling life, work, struggle. We never truly spoke about that. I tried to open up, to repair things, to make an effort to understand and save what we had—for her, and for our daughter. Because if I didn’t, I feared she would become bitter, and our daughter would carry that anger.

Accusations followed. Who knows what the future holds? I only wanted to protect our daughter and give her a better life. She would always feel gratitude for her mother. I tried to understand from a distance. If I was bad, then I was bad—because I hurt her.

All I wanted was union, yet she said in her mind I was never fully hers. That wasn’t true. But maybe she had already made up her mind.

She might try once more. No deep connection was formed, but something bigger still emerged and I have become a father !