He Thought Titanic Was a Grown-Up Toy

But then something shifted.

Max’s curiosity turned from the DVD to the real Titanic.

“Why did it sink?”
“Did people survive?”
“Was there a slide?”

He built massive Duplo ships, added tiny icebergs, and turned bathtime into dramatic reenactments.

One evening, over chicken nuggets, he asked,

“Daddy, why didn’t the captain see the iceberg?”

I paused.

“Sometimes people go too fast and miss what’s right ahead.”

He nodded, then whispered,

“That’s what happened to you and Mommy.”

My heart stopped. He wasn’t talking about the ship. He meant us—our whirlwind engagement, the rushed wedding after finding out we were expecting. We’d never said it aloud, but we’d been overwhelmed.

That night, my wife and I talked. No arguments. Just honesty. We admitted we’d drifted. Over the next few weeks, we made small changes. Friday nights became family nights. My wife picked up painting again. I left work early to play with Max.

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