I had been married to Derek for seven years, and it took me begging him for two weeks straight just to get him to agree to spend our daughter’s birthday with us. But when the day arrived, he didn't come home. I slipped out onto the balcony, out of Hazel's sight, and called him a dozen times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. Hazel stood by the front door, her eyes fixed on the driveway, yet she still turned to comfort me. "Don't worry, Mommy. Daddy’s probably just picking up my present." She knew her father didn't love her. But she desperately hoped he loved me. So she didn't cry, she didn't throw tantrums, she didn't complain. She was so heartbreakingly good. It was almost midnight when my phone finally buzzed with Derek's name. "I’m going to be late," he said, his voice clipped. "Don’t wait up." Before I could speak, a massive explosion of fireworks erupted outside the window. The deafening booms drowned out the background noise on his end. Hazel and I both froze. Just yesterday, he had mentioned preparing a birthday surprise. My heart skipped a beat. But in the next second, a little girl's ecstatic voice echoed through the receiver. "Whoa! My very own fireworks! Thank you, Daddy Derek!" The line went dead. The light in Hazel’s eyes vanished. Her head drooped, and her tears began to fall, hot and heavy, straight onto her untouched birthday cake. A sharp ache flared in my chest. I knelt in front of her, gently cupping her tear-stained face. "Hazel," I whispered, my voice trembling. "What if we don't want Daddy anymore?" … Hazel wiped her eyes quickly, forcing a brave, fragile smile. "Mommy, let's give Daddy one more chance. Maybe he really had something important to do." But as she spoke, the tears spilled over again. My heart felt like it was being shredded. I pulled her into my arms and held her tight. At 2:00 AM, the front door clicked open. Derek slipped in, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he flicked on the light. He gasped, startled to see me sitting on the dark sofa. Bright, colorful confetti was still tangled in his hair. There was a smear of frosting on his collar. And he was covered in the heavy scent of Chanel No. 5—Amber's signature perfume. Before I could say a word, he looked at the half-eaten cake on the table and frowned. "You guys really didn't wait for me?" I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. "Hazel and I waited from six o'clock. Eight hours, Derek." He hesitated, then shifted the subject with practiced ease. "Well, today is Zoe’s birthday too. Amber is a single mom, and she doesn’t have anyone else. I couldn’t just leave them." As he pulled off his coat, a small, plush velvet box rolled out of his pocket. A jewelry box from Tiffany's. I knew the brand; a simple necklace there cost thousands. I thought, for a fleeting second, it was Hazel’s birthday gift. But when it hit the floor, the lid popped open. It was empty. He had already given the piece away. Suddenly, I remembered the dress Hazel had insisted on wearing tonight. It was a size too small, tight across her chest, but she had squeezed into it because it was the only thing Derek had ever bought her. A month ago, Hazel had tugged on my sleeve in the hospital hallway. "Mommy, will Daddy really be here for this birthday? The nurse said if I don't wake up after my surgery, I might never see you guys again." I had held her small, fragile face and promised her through gritted teeth: "You will wake up, baby. And I promise, Daddy will be there this time." I hadn't been sure myself, which was why I spent the last two weeks reminding him daily. When he finally nodded last night, I had been so happy I couldn't sleep. I never imagined he would break his promise again for Amber and her daughter. Years ago, Amber had been forced by her family to marry someone else and move abroad. Derek had been utterly devastated. Soon after, he married me—the girl who had loved him in silence for years. On our wedding night, he survived a horrific car crash. I was the neurosurgeon who performed his emergency craniotomy. While he was comatose, fighting for his life, the only name he muttered was Amber's. That was the moment I realized I had never truly entered his heart. When Amber's husband died, she returned to the states with Zoe. Derek started running over to her place every chance he got. I used to think my tolerance was a sign of maturity, of understanding. But it was just a weapon I handed him to hurt me and our daughter. Derek loosened his tie and walked toward the bathroom. "Alright, it’s just a birthday. We can celebrate it anytime. Next week, when I’m free, I’ll make it up to her." Looking at his aloof, careless silhouette, a profound exhaustion washed over me. I took a deep breath and said quietly, "No need." Because while Hazel was crying herself to sleep, I had already submitted my transfer request to the hospital in my hometown. It was approved instantly. Sensing something different in my tone, Derek paused and turned back. "Nicola, are you seriously picking a fight over something this trivial?" I stood up, holding my phone out to show him the screen. "Trivial?" It was a video Amber had posted. Derek was holding Amber's hand with one arm and cradling Zoe with the other. Zoe planted a loud kiss on his cheek, squealing, "Thank you for spending my birthday with me, Daddy!" Derek’s face paled slightly. "She’s just a kid. She doesn't know any better. Why do you let things like this get to you?" I gripped my phone tighter. "Yes, she’s a kid. But what about you? Are you a kid too? Or do you just forget you have a daughter of your own?" My confrontation hit a nerve. His voice flared. "Nicola, stop being so paranoid! Amber is raising a child alone, it’s exhausting. What’s wrong with me helping out? Besides, didn’t I order food delivery for Hazel tonight?" In the video, Zoe fed Derek a bite of her cake. He—a man with extreme germaphobia—ate it without a second thought. Yet, when Hazel had accidentally used his water glass months ago, he had thrown the glass directly into the trash in front of her, claiming she hadn't brushed her teeth. Hazel had been so terrified she wouldn't touch his things for months. I had given him the cold shoulder for two weeks over that, only forgiving him when he bought her that dress. But now I knew the truth. The dress was just something Zoe had thrown away because she thought it was ugly. Without this video, I would have never known that my otherwise frugal husband had spent thousands on a lavish party for his ex's daughter at a five-star hotel. Derek's raised voice pulled me back to the present. "And I have a million things to handle at work. How am I supposed to remember every kid's birthday?" My throat felt tight, as if someone were choking me. For years, he couldn't remember his daughter's birthday or our anniversary. But he never forgot to boil ginger tea and drive it over to Amber whenever she had menstrual cramps. I swallowed the bitterness. "Tomorrow is Hazel’s school field day. You promised to go with her." He hesitated, his brow furrowing deeper. "Zoe has a talent show tomorrow. I promised Amber I'd video it." "There's a father-daughter piggyback race. If you don't go, is Hazel supposed to run alone? In her condition..." He cut me off. "Fine. I’ll go. Just stop accusing me of being biased." As the bathroom door slammed shut, Hazel crept out of her room, clutching her stuffed bunny, Barnaby. She ran into my arms. "Mommy, see? Daddy still loves us." I forced a smile, trying to feel relieved, but my chest only felt heavier. The next morning, Hazel happily climbed into the backseat of Derek's car, her tiny backpack secured. Three hours later, my phone rang. It was the state highway patrol. "Is this Nicola? Your daughter was found on the shoulder of the I-95. She's fainted from panic. You need to get here immediately..." My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I drove to the station like a madwoman. The moment Hazel saw me, she broke down. I ran to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She clung to my shirt, still trembling. An officer watching the highway camera feed shook her head in disgust. "Who is this man to her? Leaving a child alone on a highway shoulder? Unbelievable." I looked at the screen. The man who had abandoned my daughter on the interstate was Derek. The footage showed Zoe throwing Hazel’s backpack out of the window, screaming. Instead of reprimanding Zoe, Derek stopped the car, forced Hazel out onto the side of the road, and drove off. With cars rushing past her at eighty miles an hour, my little girl had clung to the guardrail, so terrified she had wet her pants. The last string of sanity in my mind snapped. With shaking hands, I dialed Derek's number. He answered before I could speak, his voice frantic. "Nicola, Hazel might be in trouble. She snuck some wild flowers into her backpack, and it triggered Zoe’s asthma. I made her step out onto the shoulder for five minutes to cool down, but when I came back, she was gone." Five minutes? It had been five hours. "Nicola, are you listening? She’s lost. Go look for her. Zoe’s on an IV right now, I can't leave her..." So he was still at the hospital. He was just calling to delegate the search to me. Looking at my daughter's pale, traumatized face, I hung up on him for the first time in my life. Then, I texted my mother: "Mom, Hazel and I are coming home tomorrow." My mother replied instantly: "Really? I was just thinking about you guys! How long are you staying? What does Hazel want to eat? I'll send your dad to the market right now..." Hazel reached up, her small hand wiping my cheeks. "Mommy, I'm okay. Don't cry." Only then did I realize my face was soaked with tears. I wiped them away and replied to my mother: "Mom, this time, we aren't leaving." There was a brief pause. My mother understood. "Okay, sweetie. Whatever you decide, your dad and I are behind you." When we got back to our apartment to pack, the air was filled with the distinct, custardy aroma of durian. Hazel looked at me, terrified. It was her favorite fruit. But because Derek couldn't stand the smell, I had stopped buying it years ago. Hazel stared at the freshly peeled plate of durian on the kitchen counter, swallowing hard. With my nod of approval, she reached for a piece, but Derek—who had just walked through the door—slapped her hand away violently. "You run off on the highway and the first thing you think about is stuffing your face?" Hazel shrunk back, hiding behind my legs. I glared at him. "I bought that for her." Derek ignored me, pulling a mango from a bag and handing it to Hazel. "This is for you. You caused Zoe’s allergic reaction today. Consider the durian a peace offering for her." He began packing the durian into a container. But he had forgotten—Hazel was severely allergic to mangoes. Three years ago, because of his carelessness, she had ended up in the ICU. He had sworn back then he would never let her suffer like that again. My hands began to shake. I couldn't take it anymore. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the mango and threw it hard against his chest. The sticky juice splattered all over his shirt. Derek stared at me, dumbfounded. "Nicola, what the hell is wrong with you?" Hazel clutched my jeans, tears streaming down her face. "Mommy, don't fight. I'm not hungry anymore. I won't eat anything." Derek softened his tone slightly as he looked at her. "Daddy didn't want to fight. Your mom is just being unreasonable." Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Zoe’s voice, sweet and demanding. "Daddy Derek, where are you? Zoe already finished her durian cake and candies!" Derek’s voice turned incredibly gentle. "I'm on my way, sweetie." Once the door clicked shut behind him, I knelt down and hugged Hazel. "Hazel, if Mommy and Daddy get a divorce... will you be scared?" She wrapped her arms around my neck, her voice quiet. "I'm not scared, Mommy. I'm just scared that if I'm not here anymore, you'll be lonely." My heart broke. She loved her father so much, always wishing for a sliver of his affection. But this was the absolute last time. I had just finished packing our suitcases when Derek returned, with Amber and Zoe trailing closely behind him. Amber stood in the entryway, her eyes scanning our luggage before resting on me. I had been working back-to-back shifts at the hospital; my dark circles were heavy, and my hair was tied in a messy bun. She, on the other hand, had perfectly styled hair and soft, fresh makeup. At the exact same age, I looked ten years older than her. Amber smirked slightly, then looked at Derek. "Oh, Nicola already packed? That was fast." Meeting my cold stare, Derek finally spoke. "Amber’s pipes burst, and they aren't comfortable staying at a hotel. I was thinking... maybe you and Hazel could make a small sacrifice..." "A sacrifice?" I repeated. Derek nodded, trying to sound casual. "Just for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. Hazel is going to be admitted to the hospital next month anyway, so her room will be free. Amber is struggling on her own. We should help out where we can." I let out a harsh laugh. "Why should we? I don't even know her." Derek's face darkened. "Nicola, you're becoming incredibly difficult. I try to talk to you, and all you do is give me attitude. If you're going to be like this, fine—I'll move out with them!" I marched into our bedroom, grabbed his clothes from the closet, and threw them into the hallway. "Perfect. Get out. And don't forget to sign the divorce papers!" Derek froze. He stayed silent for a long moment, then, for the first time in months, he stepped closer to placate me. "Do you really have to embarrass me in front of guests? I know I’ve been distant lately, but Amber and I are just friends. Stop overreacting, okay?" In the past, if he had used that tone with me, I would have folded. But now, I was just tired. Suddenly, a sharp, piercing cry echoed from Hazel's bedroom. We rushed in. Hazel was on the floor, her hands covered in blood, sobbing as she clutched a pile of broken glass. I panicked, lifting her up. "Hazel! What happened?" She gasped through her tears. "Zoe... Zoe broke my jar. She said she was going to burn all the paper cranes I folded for Daddy..." Zoe was standing nearby, clutching one of her fingers and crying even louder. "She's lying! I just wanted to see them, and she threw the jar at me! Mommy, my finger is bleeding! Am I going to die?" Amber’s face went white. She yelled at Derek, "Derek! Zoe has a bleeding disorder! A tiny cut could be fatal!" Derek panicked, turning on Hazel with fury. "Is this how I raised you? How can you be so vicious at your age?" He threw a glare at me. "This is what happens when you spoil her! Look what she’s become!" He didn't know that Hazel never lied. He didn't believe her. But I did. Ignoring the blood dripping from Hazel's small hands, Derek scooped Zoe up and rushed out the door with Amber. Looking at the crushed paper cranes scattered on the floor, Hazel wiped her tears. "Mommy, I don't like Daddy anymore. Take me away. Please." Half an hour later, after I bandaged Hazel's hands, I called a moving company. By the next morning, the apartment was completely empty. I received a text from Derek: "Let's stay apart for a bit to cool down. I'm not divorcing you. Nicola, I'll say it again: Amber and I are clean. When you've cleared your head, bring Hazel to the hospital to apologize to Zoe." I looked at the message, scrolling up through our chat history. It was a sea of blue bubbles from me, met with occasional one-letter responses from him. "K. Busy." On a whim, I opened Amber’s Instagram. As I scrolled down, my chest grew cold. He had liked every single photo of her new manicures. On her selfies on rainy days, he commented: "Make sure you stay warm." When she complained about Zoe not sleeping, he replied instantly: "It’s hard on you. Get some rest." On a photo of her IV drip, he had left multiple likes and comments asking which hospital she was at. Even a random photo of a wildflower by the road had a heart from him. But when I looked at my own profile? The video of Hazel speaking her first words had gone completely unnoticed by him. A selfie I took during a grueling 3:00 AM hospital shift only had comments from my colleagues. When Hazel had a 104-degree fever and I posted a prayer for her recovery, a dozen friends checked in. His icon was nowhere to be found. He wasn't avoiding his phone. He was just filtering me out. At that moment, I finally understood. Seven years of quiet endurance had bought me absolutely nothing. I smiled bitterly and texted back two words: "Suit yourself." As I dragged our suitcases out the door, I left the signed divorce papers on the kitchen counter. Hazel held my hand, whispering, "Mommy, I promise I'll wake up after my surgery. I won't leave you alone." I kissed her forehead. "I know, baby." On the train, the city skyline blurred past the window. My phone began to vibrate wildly. Derek was calling, over and over—more times than he had in the last seven years combined. I didn't answer. Ten minutes later, an unknown number popped up. I picked up, and Derek's voice came through, raw and panicked. "Nicola! Where are you? Get to the hospital right now for emergency surgery! Zoe is in critical condition!"
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