“Liar!”
I flinch, and for a second, I can’t look at her.
“You’re lying,” she says again, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You do have a girlfriend. The girls at school showed me. Mommy told me too. Ethan said you hurt Mommy. That’s why you’re not going to live with us anymore.”
My throat burns. “Alicia, please. Let Daddy explain.”
But she’s already shaking her head, sobbing now, her hands curling into fists.
“I don’t want you to be my daddy anymore.”
The air leaves my lungs. And in that moment, I feel something inside me tear wide open. Something I know I’ll never be able to put back together again.
She turns away in hurried steps, bare feet pattering across the floor, straight to Ceci, who sits frozen on the couch.
“Mommy,” she sobs, collapsing beside her, burying her face against her mother’s shoulder. Ceci’s arms wrap around her instantly. Instinctively.
And I just stand there. Watching.
My daughter. My little princess who used to run into my arms every time I walked through the door, no matter how old she got. She won’t even look at me now.
Cecily whispers something to her, soft and soothing, her hand stroking Alicia’s curls. I can’t hear the words, but I know that tone. It’s the one she used when the kids were younger and got sick. When nightmares woke them in the middle of the night. The one I used to love hearing from the other side of the bed.
Now it’s killing me.
I take a step back, my vision blurring. Everything feels distant. Muffled.
This is what it feels like to lose everything. Not suddenly. Not cleanly. But piece by piece.
I don’t want you to be my daddy anymore.
I’ve never felt smaller. Never felt less of a man.
This is what it feels like to understand true devastation. Not the headlines. Not the boardroom fallout. Not even losing the woman I love.
It’s this. Watching the two of them cling to each other like I never existed. And realizing they’ll be okay.
Without me.
Maya
I stare at my reflection as I strip the makeup from my face. I know it’s all in my head, but it still feels like the skin on my cheek burns faintly. A lingering reminder of the slap I took two days ago from that fat bitch at the office who thought she could humiliate me in front of everyone.
She’d hit me hard—hard enough to leave a mark that lasted the entire day. But I know exactly what it was.
Jealousy.Plain, pathetic jealousy.
And that’s exactly what I told her. That insulting me wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t make her life any less miserable or the truth any different. Because someone like Colin would never look at her twice.
“You wish he would even know yourpatheticname,” I’d said, smiling just enough to make sure it stung.
I curse under my breath, forcing the memory out of my head, and toss the makeup wipe into the trash.
My phone won’t stop buzzing on the counter. Notifications flashing across the screen like angry bees. I open the app and roll my eyes.
Hundreds of comments.
Homewrecker. Slut. Disgusting whore. Husband stealer. Cheap tramp. Gold-digging bitch. Side piece. Trash. Skank. Mistress. Jezebel. Snake. Family wrecker. Clown. Home destroyer. Desperate whore. Cheap side chick. Gold digger. Thirsty bitch. Bottom feeder. Trashy slut. Office slut. Husband thief. Psycho bitch. Plastic-faced whore.
