He Took His Son, I Took My DaughterChapter 1
My daughter has a summer assignment where she needs her parents to accompany her to check in at a museum and record a video.
But throughout the summer, my husband, John Foster, kept making excuses, saying he was too busy with work.
As the school term approached, and I saw my daughter anxiously unable to sleep, I helplessly suggested,
"How about I go with you to check in, sweetheart?"
My daughter, trying to hide her disappointment, nodded obediently.
But when my daughter and I arrived at the museum, we saw John with his first love, holding a little boy's hand, standing in front of a professional camera crew.
"Hello, everyone, I’m Ben’s father..."
My daughter and I froze in place as a staff member approached us.
"Sorry, this afternoon the museum has been booked exclusively for an event. Please come back tomorrow."
I clenched my fists tightly; this morning, he had told me he was leaving for a three-day business trip.
"Mom, isn't Dad really busy with work? How can he be here?"
I looked at my daughter, biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.
"Isn't Dad mine? Why is he someone else's dad?"
I didn’t know how to answer my daughter's question. My gut feeling told me John had been cheating.
The staff member, seeing we were motionless, stepped forward to pull us away.
My daughter tripped and scraped her knee on the rough stone pavement, blood oozing out in a large patch.
After days of anxiety and frustration, my daughter couldn’t hold back and started crying.
John caught sight of me through the crowd, his eyes wide with surprise, instinctively walking towards us.
"Do you know them?"
"Dad, I’m so thirsty after filming. Can I have ice cream?"
John looked away from us, gently smiling at the mother and son in front of him.
"I don't know them. They're just strangers!"
"Let’s go, let’s get ice cream!"
He picked up the boy, holding hands with the woman beside him, and walked past us without looking back.
After accompanying him through the lows of his life for eight years, all I received was a dismissive "strangers."
My daughter stared at John’s back, gasping for air as she cried.
"Mom, why did Dad say he doesn't know us?"
"What did I do wrong that made Dad not want me?"
My heart ached deeply, and I carefully avoided her injury, holding her close.