When the two ice queens forgot my birthday. Again. The floating comments in my vision flared up in their usual defense: [It really was an accident this time.] [They already have a surprise waiting for him.] [It’s just that one of Helena’s grad students was targeted tonight. As his advisor, she had to handle the emergency first.] [The ice queens just aren't good with words. They don’t know how to say no yet.] [Nicholas needs to be more patient. He shouldn't make a scene over this.] I let out a quiet sigh, letting it go. Again. I lit the single candle on my cupcake and celebrated alone. Eight years of marriage to Helena, and not once had she or our daughter been there for my birthday. Just as I blew out the candle, my father burst through the front door, looking windblown and exhausted. He took one look at me and the spread of cold, untouched dinner. He let out a sigh heavier than mine. "Nicholas, are you really happy here?" I froze. The genuine worry in his eyes hit me like a physical blow. Real care, I realized, always leaves a mark. … A sharp burn hit the back of my throat. Eight years. Each birthday spent in an empty dining room. The first two years, she was either at a conference or buried in lab work. The floating comments always made excuses for her, telling me her ambition was a good thing, that she simply didn't care about meaningless holidays, that she was just quiet. I endured it. Then she got pregnant with Hazel. The comments promised change: [Once the baby is born, the ice will melt. She'll prioritize her family.] I believed them. But Hazel's birth changed nothing. If anything, Hazel grew up to be just like Helena—aloof, distant, ignoring my birthdays, treating me like background noise. Another little ice queen. I had doubted myself, cried in empty rooms, planned to pack my bags. But the comments kept pulling me back: [They love you. They just have an emotional block. Just be patient. Wait a little longer.] [Helena cares. Look how she always tries to make it up to you later.] [She has her flaws, but she's a good person at heart.] [Hazel is just naturally cold. What daughter doesn't love her father?] For years, I survived on crumbs. Little moments of warmth that I stretched out to last for months. I got used to the cold. But Dad's question wouldn't leave my head. Are you really happy? I looked at the table of cold food. It wasn't inedible, but it was lifeless. Like my marriage. "They say a father always knows," Dad said, his voice quiet. "Every year on your birthday, my chest gets tight. But whenever I called, you said everything was fine." He stopped, his gaze falling on my thin frame beneath my sweater. "Why have you lost so much weight?" He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. "Still the same boy. Keeping everything locked inside. Nick, if you're not happy, come back home to Maine with me." I glanced at my phone. My last text to Helena asking when they’d be home remained unanswered. My text log with her was a barren wasteland of my long, hopeful paragraphs met with her occasional, single-word replies. I remembered wanting to take Hazel to the amusement park, only for her to look at me with Helena's cool, analytical eyes: "You're an adult. Can you stop being so childish?" My shopping apps were full of things I bought for them; they had never once bought a gift for me. I looked up at my father. I didn't want to eat this cold dinner anymore. I didn't want to live this cold life. "Okay," I said. "Let's go." The room went still. Dad looked surprised by my sudden resolve. The floating comments flared up in a frenzy: [Don't do anything reckless! They're already on their way home!] [Just because they missed one birthday, he's throwing a tantrum and running home to his dad?] [I don't get it. Why can't he have a little more patience?] [He's just trying to get a reaction. Once they apologize, he'll stay. He loves Hazel too much to leave.] "Are you sure, Nick? You're not just angry?" Dad asked. I shook my head. Eight years had worn away every shred of hope. I had listened to the comments and ignored the most basic truth: if someone cares about you, you shouldn't have to search for proof. Dad went into the bedroom to pack my things. Then, the front door opened. Helena and Hazel walked in, followed by a young man—Jude, one of her graduate students. He looked anxious, like a kicked puppy. The comments chimed in: [Don't jump to conclusions! Jude was just targeted by some department rivals. Helena didn't know how to comfort him, so she brought him home.] [Look! They actually bought a cake this time. They're trying to change!] I looked at the cake box in Helena's hand. Through the plastic window, I saw the bright yellow mango slices. I am severely allergic to mangoes. I looked away. The student stepped forward, stammering. "Mr. Matthews—I mean, Nicholas. I'm Jude. I didn't mean to impose on Professor Helena. I hope we didn't miss your birthday." He glanced at Helena, his eyes filled with a mixture of timidity, shyness, and a longing that I recognized all too well. He wasn't the first student to fall for her, but he was the first one she had brought home. I said nothing. Helena set the cake on the table. "Cut the cake. Let's get this over with. Give a big piece to Jude—he likes sweet things." Seven-year-old Hazel chimed in. "Jude had a really bad day, Dad. Sweet things will make him feel better. Go cut it." She reached for my hand. I quietly stepped back, avoiding her touch. "I've already eaten," I said. "Help yourselves." Hazel's face darkened. "Are you throwing a tantrum? We rushed all the way back to celebrate with you. Mom was busy with something important. She's only a little late." I didn't bother arguing. In their world, everyone and everything came before me. Just then, Dad walked out of the bedroom, wheeling my suitcase. His face was set in stone. "Nick, we're leaving." Helena froze, looking from my father to the suitcase. "Dad?" Then she looked at Jude, her expression tightening with embarrassment. "Nicholas, what is this scene?" The comments continued their defense of her, but I looked her dead in the eye. "Helena, I want a divorce." Silence dropped like an anvil. Hazel spoke first, her voice sharp with anger. "You're divorcing Mom just because we were late for your birthday? Why are you being so petty? If you divorce, I'm staying with Mom." An old ache in my back—from the sleepless nights I spent carrying Hazel when she was a sick toddler—began to throb. Helena rubbed her temples. "If this is about the birthday, I'm sorry. I apologize." Jude panicked. "I'm so sorry, Nicholas. This is my fault. Please don't divorce because of me." The comments turned vicious: [Is he crazy?] [Divorcing over a cake? Abandoning his own child?] Helena stepped in front of Jude, shielding him. Her voice softened in a way she had never used with me. "It's not your fault, Jude. This is between him and me." I watched her protect him. The great ice queen could melt, after all. Just not for me. What had I been holding on to? Once Jude was quieted, Helena looked at me, her eyes freezing over. "Have you lost your mind? If you want a divorce, fine. I don't care. It's your choice." Dad, having witnessed her shielding the boy, snapped. "We're divorcing, absolutely. My son spends his birthday alone while you parade your boy toy into his home? I raised my boy for twenty-five years to be loved, not treated like garbage by the likes of you!" The word boy toy hit Jude like a physical blow. He flushed red. "Sir, it's not like that. Professor Helena and I—" Realizing he couldn't explain it away, Jude turned and ran out of the apartment. Helena tried to catch his arm but missed. She turned on my father, her face dark with rage. "You've crossed the line." She pulled out her phone, frantically typing to Jude. The screen was a long waterfall of green messages—she had texted him more in the last hour than she had texted me in a month. The comments scolded my father: [Jude is so innocent. Now the whole university will gossip about him.] [His dad is so reckless. What kind of father encourages his son to get divorced? Second marriages aren't easy.] [Nicholas, wake up. Stop projecting.] I looked at the resentment in Helena's eyes. I had never been more awake. Hazel was crying now, furious. "Grandpa, why did you bully Jude? You're just as mean as Dad!" My father’s hand trembled in mine. His eyes went bloodshot. "Hazel! You can hate me all you want, but you do not speak to your father that way! Do you have any idea how much he sacrificed to raise you when you were sick?" I stared at her. I had buried those memories deep down because they hurt too much to recall. Hazel had been a frail, sickly infant. I had read every parenting book, stayed up for days on end, charting her fevers. When Dad visited, he would weep for me. But Helena had only glanced at her crib and said, "Maybe we shouldn't try so hard. Let nature take its course." Back then, the comments claimed she was just trying to spare me the stress. Now I saw the truth: she simply didn't care. She didn't love me, so she couldn't bring herself to care about our child. Hazel, stubborn and angry, lunged forward and shoved my father. "He chose to do that! If I could choose, I wouldn't want him as my dad anyway!" Dad stumbled backward, his lower back slamming hard against the sharp corner of the console table. A sickening thud echoed through the room. Rage boiled over. I slapped Hazel's hand away. "Don't you dare touch your grandfather! You don't want me? Fine. I don't want you either!" Hazel, only seven, clutched her hand, her eyes wide with shock. She burst into tears and fled down the hallway. Helena slid her phone into her pocket, her voice colder than winter. "Are you happy now? You want a divorce? Fine. We'll start the paperwork." She walked out after Hazel. Dad groaned, clutching his back. I helped him up and took him straight to the hospital. The doctor said he had severely sprained his lumbar spine and needed bed rest. I checked him into a room and immediately called a lawyer. "I don't want custody. I'll take a smaller share of the marital assets to cover child support. Just get it done." During his three days in the hospital, Helena never called once. On the day the paperwork was ready, she and Hazel finally showed up at the ward. "Did your father spread those rumors at the university? Saying Jude is a homewrecker?" Helena demanded the moment she saw me. I frowned. The comments illuminated the screen: [Jude is miserable. The rumors have ruined his reputation at the department.] [He couldn't take the pressure and swallowed a bottle of pills. Thank god Helena found him in time.] [Nicholas's dad really went too far this time.] I looked back at my father, who was sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed. I stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind me. "My dad didn't do anything." Helena let out a bitter laugh. "Only your father called him that. Who else would it be? Do you have any idea what this does to his career? Nicholas, your father doesn't understand academia, but you do." I remained silent. Her impatience flared, then, incredibly, her voice softened. "Jude and I are clean. I'm asking you, please, make a statement to clear his name." I stared at her. Helena, the proud, unyielding academic, begging me for another man's sake. A cold laugh escaped my lips. "Helena, can you honestly tell me you don't feel anything for him?" She went quiet. "We are student and advisor. I know my limits." "Your limits?" I laughed, the sound hollow. "You missed my birthday to be with him. Your text logs with him are longer than our entire year of marriage. And now, you're begging me to save him. Helena, you care about him a thousand times more than you ever cared about your husband." I had spent eight years waiting for her to melt, forgetting that when someone actually loves you, they don't make you freeze in the first place. Her expression turned defensive. "You're being ridiculous. Since when do you care about these things? You never used to mind." Of course. My endless compromises had been taken as indifference. She had watched my heart break in slow motion and called it peace. "I'm done," I said, turning to walk away. But Helena grabbed my wrist. "Jude tried to end his life because of what your family said. You have to clear this up now." Her grip was iron. Hazel grabbed my jeans, anchoring me. Inside the ward, Dad heard the commotion. He tried to get up, but I heard a sharp cry of pain as he fell from the bed. Panic seized me. "Let me check on my dad first, Helena! Let me make sure he's okay, then I'll sign whatever you want!" She didn't flinch. "Jude can't wait. The nurses are in there. Your father will be fine." My blood ran cold. Helena had no family of her own; my father had treated her like a daughter for eight years. And this was what he got. She dragged me to Jude's ward. The boy shrank under his covers when he saw me. Helena rushed to comfort him. "Don't worry. He's here to set things straight." My mind was entirely on my father. I muttered a hollow apology and signed the statement she drafted. Once it was done, I pulled out the divorce agreement. "I did what you wanted. Sign this." Helena stared at the papers, her shoulders tensing. "You know this isn't what I wanted. We have Hazel. And with Jude's scandal, a divorce right now looks bad..." Even now, she was calculating how it affected Jude. "Do you really think we have a marriage left, Helena?" My lip bled where I had bitten it. Helena's eyes flicked to the drop of red, her fingers twitching. Hazel looked at my pale face and whispered, "Dad?" Just then, Jude grabbed a butter knife from his bedside table, pointing it at his own wrist. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have caused this..." Helena's brief step toward me veered instantly back to Jude's bedside. She wrapped her arms around him, her face hardening back into the familiar, frozen mask. She signed the paper with one hand. "I hope you don't regret this." A weight lifted from my chest. Ignoring the frantic scrolling of the comments, I smiled. "I won't." I walked out and never looked back. Dad's fall hadn't caused any permanent damage, thank God. When I showed him the signed papers, he let out a long, ragged sigh. "I'm sorry, Nick. Your old man couldn't protect you." I hugged him. If it weren't for him, I'd still be living in that phantom world, feeding on lies. I booked two tickets to Maine for that night. Their lives were no longer my concern.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "522951", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel