On my daughter’s fifth birthday, Cynthia posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: 【My little one was fussy before bed, wanting her daddy, and Super Dad dropped everything to rush right over.】 The man lying in bed with her, smiling at the camera, was my husband—Chris. I glanced at the text message I’d received just ten minutes earlier: 【Something came up at the office. Don't wait up for me and Mia.】 I liked the post. Then I dialed my divorce lawyer. 1 It was two in the morning when Chris finally came home. The harsh glare of the hallway light spilled into the room, and my first instinct was to shield my daughter’s eyes. Chris leaned against the doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Let’s wake Mia up. I can celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I always insisted that Chris be there. I didn't want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through video calls. But now— I straightened the covers, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Chris’s face. “Clara, I just went over there to put Leo to sleep. Don’t misread the situation. This is exactly why I can't be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t misreading anything. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious, either. “If there’s nothing else, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school in the morning.” Chris let out a cold laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later, accusing me of being absent from Mia’s childhood.” I turned my back to him, switched off the lamp, and gently patted Mia, who had started to stir from the noise. His absence didn’t matter anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Chris didn’t leave for work immediately as he usually did. Instead, he sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling Mia’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Chris drove her every single day. But after Cynthia came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia transferred to a new school. I was standing by the gate when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a meeting was leaning over, lifting a little boy out of the back seat of his car. It wasn't that he didn't have time to take his daughter to school. It was just that he had something more important to do. We had a massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on a divorce, he was still Mia's father. I considered it for a moment and didn’t refuse. A small smile played on his lips as he bent down and scooped Mia into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with someone else’s life. A superhero water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow, a woman’s shawl… And hanging from the back of the passenger seat was a “family photo.” Chris’s expression tightened when he saw where I was looking. “Cynthia just hung that there. She said it makes Leo happy. Don’t start a fight over something so trivial.” The old me would have torn that picture to shreds and tearfully demanded to know where Mia and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Chris stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But for some reason, my heart was a flatline. I almost wanted to laugh. Did Chris, always so sharp and calculating, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent ploy? The truth was simpler. He just didn't care. “We should get going. Mia’s going to be late.” At my prompting, Chris’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he opened the driver’s side door. Just as I was about to lift Mia into the car, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice singing, “My Daddy, my hero…” On the other end of the line, a little boy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Are you leaving Leo and Mommy?” Chris hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, scrambled into the car. “Leo’s crying for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. Worried about Mia, I knelt down to comfort her. “Daddy has something important to do today. Next time he’s free, we’ll have him take you to school, okay?” Mia’s face held a maturity far beyond her years. “Daddy will never be free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mom.” 2 That evening, Chris called. “Clara, I’ll be home late. Leo is sick…” “Okay.” I agreed so quickly that his prepared explanation caught in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone hardened with irritation. “Clara, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, I received a series of texts. 【I’m so sorry, Clara. Leo has been really clingy with his dad lately.】 【But really, Chris shouldn't have just abandoned you and Mia the second I called.】 【I’ll be sure to scold him. Please don’t be mad.】 The last text was punctuated with a giggling emoji. It was Cynthia. The messages weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for him. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Chris called again. “Clara, what is your problem? Cynthia apologizes to you, and this is how you act?” I could faintly hear the sounds of a woman and child sobbing in the background. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came back, low and heavy. “Clara, how did you become like this? I’m so disappointed in you.” Cynthia was the one who had provoked me, but the moment she cried, Chris laid all the blame at my feet, as if I were some kind of wicked villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Chris had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. In a divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of the shares in Chris’s company. And since our parenting conditions were comparable, custody of our daughter would likely be awarded to me, the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, bags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—they were all coming with us. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. For a moment, I paused, then I broke the dusty wax seal on an old chest in the corner. It was filled to the brim with love letters—from the Chris who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I opened the one on top. It began: 【To the twenty-seven-year-old Clara, this is the seventeen-year-old Chris.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to you. As we promised, we will open this together in ten years.】 【By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child.】 My phone rang. On the other end was the twenty-seven-year-old Chris. “Clara! Do you have any idea that Cynthia took Leo and ran away from home? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the last line of the letter. 【Signed: The Chris who will love his Clara forever.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest, like something delicate had finally shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box into the fireplace. 3 Chris didn't come home that night. I didn't frantically call him over and over like I used to, crying and promising I would never give Cynthia a hard time again. My daughter didn't ask about her father either. She just quietly took the framed photo of her and Chris from her room while I packed. Chris and I were locked in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a parental consent form signed, which required facial recognition. I tried calling Chris, only to find he’d blocked my number. With no other choice, I took the form and went to his office. I hadn't been waiting long when I saw a familiar figure slip into Chris's office. The assistant pouring water nearby looked guilty. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne gave instructions that Ms. Cynthia can enter his office whenever she likes.” That special privilege was, in a way, my fault. Back when I still brought Chris lunch every day, we would eat and talk for an hour. One day, Cynthia showed up, but the assistant at the time stopped her at the door. By the time Chris walked me out, Cynthia and her son Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Chris ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, saying my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Cynthia was fired. From that day on, everyone knew Cynthia was the one who held Chris’s heart. I never came to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward the office. Chris was indeed in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Cynthia was perched on the armrest of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He noticed my gaze and faltered. “Clara, don't get the wrong idea. Cynthia just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Mia has a field trip. It needs a parent’s signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “What else?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn't know why, but I knew Chris well enough to recognize he was in a foul mood. Cynthia scoffed lightly. “What a complicated way to get a signature. Chris, she just wants to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s about time you went home to see Mia.” The tension in Chris’s brow eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “Clara, so now you’re using our child as an excuse.” “Apologize to Cynthia. Otherwise, I’m not signing this.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he didn’t care about his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Cynthia. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Mia would miss her field trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at Chris, and at Cynthia still sitting on his armrest, then turned and walked out of the office without a word. I could just tell the teacher that Mia didn't have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, masculine voice called out. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could sign it for you.” It was the other man from Chris's meeting. “After all, I’ve been an audience to your family drama for some time now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that radiated a cool authority, his features handsome and severe. He clearly came from money and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The verification went through instantly. Three elegantly written words appeared on the screen: 【Kyle Cole.】 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Chris to come home that evening. When I went to pick Mia up from kindergarten, his Maybach was already waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Cynthia’s triumphant smile from the passenger seat. “Clara, here to pick up your child, too? This is an elite kindergarten, you know. Are you still wearing last year’s coat? Aren’t you afraid Mia will be embarrassed?” I couldn’t be bothered with her and moved a little farther away. Cynthia turned to the driver’s seat, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Chris, did I say something wrong again? I think I made Clara angry.” For once, Chris didn’t respond. He just stared at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Clara, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even farther away. I don’t know when it started, but the distance between us had grown so vast that even a simple word of concern sounded forced and hollow. As we neared the school gate, a scuffle broke out in the line of children. I frowned, and my heart sank when I saw that one of them was Mia. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately threw himself on the ground and began to wail. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Chris and Cynthia hurried over. Cynthia swept her son into her arms, her face filled with indignation. “Clara, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child. They were just playing. There was no need to get so aggressive.” Chris looked at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his own flesh and blood. The teacher looked torn. “Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Cynthia, the children both saw Mr. Thorne and started insisting he was their father. They argued, and then they started fighting.” It was dismissal time, and the area was crowded with parents. The whispers started immediately. “What a mess. Two kids fighting over a dad? Must be the wife and the mistress.” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just a liar, trying to show off. Who knew the real daughter would be right there?” “A little gold-digger in the making. What are they teaching him at home?” Leo was still crying, clinging to Chris’s neck and screaming “Daddy.” But Mia… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Chris, unblinking. The other children chimed in curiously. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who’s lying has to apologize.” Chris opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s…” At that exact moment, Cynthia gave his sleeve a gentle tug, her eyes pleading. In an instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like countless times before, all it took was one look from Cynthia, and my daughter and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Chris, your answer right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak.” His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked at Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized, as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. This is our daughter. The crowd of parents immediately turned on Mia. “Little girl, why would you lie about who your dad is? And then hit his real son?” “Yeah, the truth is out and she’s not even apologizing. No manners at all.” “She’s just jealous he’s rich. Wants to be a rich man’s daughter.” “Her mother doesn’t look like a good person either, all done up like that. Probably taught her daughter to call rich men ‘daddy’ to try and trap one.” “Chris, you’re not even human…” I started to say, but a sharp pain in my palm cut me off. Mia was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly tight. The light in her eyes was fading fast. “Mom, let’s just go.” Then she turned woodenly to Chris and bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I was mistaken.”
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