Dirty? Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?
Six years of marriage. Ten years together. Thirteen years since we first met.
And not once had I realized the boy who once soothed my broken heart with quiet kindness had become someone so cold and unrecognizable.
Tears welled in my eyes. I shut them tight, letting the warmth silently streak down my cheeks.
Turned out, I couldn’t endure it. Not even for our daughter. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself.
Children’s Day was coming up in a few days. I figured I'd use the event as an opportunity to speak with Milton face-to-face to end things properly. But I didn’t expect him to back out at the last minute, claiming something came up at the university. He bailed on the performance our daughter had practiced for weeks.
Still, I didn’t want her effort and excitement to be wasted. So after settling her in at the venue, I went to speak with the director. I asked them to switch from live piano to a pre-recorded accompaniment, something to fill the silence Milton left behind.
When I returned, I saw my daughter sitting alone in the audience. She looked so quiet, completely out of place amid the laughter and chatter of the other kids. At first, I assumed she was just being shy. I crouched beside her, gently encouraging her to join in.
She glanced at me but didn’t move. So I smiled and took her hand, guiding her over.
“Hi there,” I said to the group of children nearby, “Can we join you guys?”
But one boy turned to us with a smug grin and said, “I don’t want to play with someone who doesn’t even have a dad!”
The others giggled and chimed in, “Just admit it! You don’t have a dad!”
“Poor thing, no dad at all!”
My daughter bit down on her lip, trying her hardest not to cry. Still, she held her head high and retorted, “I do have a dad!”
The boy sneered, “Then why isn’t he here? Just like Miss Laura said, you’re a little liar!”
The kids surrounded her, laughing and calling her names.
My expression hardened, and my fists clenched. She was being bullied. And not for the first time, I was sure of it now.
Miss Laura, who even was that?
Just as I stepped forward, ready to scoop my daughter into my arms and demand answers, her eyes suddenly lit up. She pointed excitedly toward the entrance and cried out, “Daddy! You came!”
I turned and followed her gaze. Milton had arrived, after all.
But how did he know the address of this event?