After Three Years Away, My Daughter Calls Me Mister

Heather Whitfield quickly came back to her senses and crouched down to soothe our daughter. “Nicole, sweetheart, this is your daddy.”

Nicole Lowe furrowed her little brows and looked at me. “But Daddy isn’t—”

Before she could finish, Heather quickly covered her mouth and said, “It’s been too long since she last saw you. She’s just shy around you.”

She looked up at me. There was a note of reproach in her voice. “You know you’ve barely been home in three years. Little kids don’t have the best memories. It’s perfectly normal.”

I wanted to tell her it was not that I did not want to come home.

The first year, I was assigned to a project under strict lockdown. I had already bought my plane ticket for the New Year when she told me Nicole had just recovered from the flu and she was worried I might bring the virus home.

The second year, I arranged time off, but she said her mother was staying with her and the house was a mess. There was no point in making the trip.

The third year, I told her I wanted to take leave to attend one of Nicole’s preschool events. She said our daughter was already used to life without me and would only cry if I suddenly showed up.

Every week, I stayed up late waiting for our video calls.

She would either tell me Nicole was already asleep or that she was exhausted from her extracurricular classes.

Sometimes, my daughter’s face would flash across the screen. The moment I called her name, Heather would blame a bad connection and hurriedly hang up.

I thought raising a child alone was hard enough for her. Hence, I sent more money and more gifts. I never complained.

I held out the bags in my hands. “Nicole, I bought these for you—a dress and a puzzle. Don’t you love this princess character?”

Nicole did not take them. Instead, she regarded me with even greater suspicion. “How do you know that, mister?”

My hand froze in midair.

Heather took the bags from me and managed a strained smile. “She’s still little. She doesn’t know any better.”

I did not push her. As I stepped inside to change my shoes, I noticed a pair of gray men’s slippers on the second shelf of the shoe cabinet. They were a size ten, and they were not mine.

My own slippers were on the bottom shelf, their uppers crushed out of shape and a thin layer of dust covered them.

Heather followed my gaze and immediately explained, “My younger brother stayed over last time and left them here.”

I nodded and said nothing.

In the bathroom, I spotted a black electric razor on the counter. It looked brand-new.

I did not use that brand.

Heather leaned against the doorway, her voice suddenly tense. “That belongs to my father. He came over a while back to help me fix a leaky pipe.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was darkened by the sun, dark circles shadowed my eyes, and years of working on construction sites had left my skin rough and weathered.

I looked like an outsider who had wandered by mistake into someone else’s carefully polished life.

The master bedroom door stood slightly ajar. On the nightstand lay a black fast-charging cable. The worn section near the plug had been wrapped in blue electrical tape.

Inside the wardrobe, most of the space that used to hold my clothes was empty. Only a few old shirts remained, shoved into the farthest corner.

Heather came up behind me and closed the wardrobe door. “I tidied things up. I was worried your clothes would get moldy, so I put them in vacuum-sealed bags for now.”

She had an explanation for everything. Every time, I told myself I was probably overthinking things.

After all, we had been married for seven years, and Nicole was five. I had not been able to come home for so long, and now, I was assuming the worst about my own family.

That evening, dinner was a full spread that included a stew. Everything on the table was something Nicole loved.

The moment I sat down, she picked up her plate and scooted closer to Heather. “Mommy, is he going to live with us forever?”

The table fell silent for a moment.

I looked at Heather, who merely stroked Nicole’s head and murmured, “He… just got back. He’ll only be staying for a few days.”

I put down my cutlery. “I’m her father.”

Heather’s expression shifted. “Desmond, don’t scare her. She needs time to adjust.”

After dinner, I wheeled my suitcase toward the master bedroom.

Heather stepped in front of the door. “Why don’t you stay at a hotel for a couple of days?”