Father's Day Deadly Gift

The word hit me like a bolt, freezing me in place.

In an instant, I leaped up, snatched the card from her hands, and warily scanned the room.

Despite the silence around us, my pulse refused to slow. My hands tightened on her arms.

"Ouch!" Stephanie Moody cried out. "Dad, you're hurting me!"

"Quiet!" I snapped, terror overwhelming me.

My second wife, Florence Moody, rushed out of the bedroom, alarmed by the noise. She pulled Stephanie into her arms and glared at me. "Have you lost your mind? Why are you scaring her?"

Sweat beading on my skin, I stammered, "Did you hear what she called me?"

Before Florence could respond, Stephanie sobbed, "Why can't I call you that? Aren't I your daughter? The kids at school say I'm not."

I tried to explain, but words died in my throat. I'd lost three children before, all dying moments after calling me Dad.

Each death was different. My eldest child convulsed, foaming at the mouth; my second collapsed, unconscious.

They all died instantly, and autopsies revealed nothing.

The losses broke my first wife and me. We suspected a genetic flaw, as both children died around their first birthdays. To avoid further tragedy, I adopted a child.

When I met her, the eight-year-old girl beamed and called me Dad. But seconds later, her smile twisted into agony. Blood sprayed from her mouth, and she collapsed, lifeless.

The orphanage director was stunned. "Impossible! She was perfectly healthy. How could she die so suddenly?"

All eyes turned to me, and someone recognized me.

"Isn't that the man who lost two kids? Her death must be his fault!"

"How else do you explain kids dying right after calling him Dad?"

Their accusations pierced me. I stood frozen, unable to look at the girl's body. I shook my head, insisting I'd done nothing, but no one believed me.

It took months of police investigation to rule her death a sudden illness, but the doctors couldn't name it.

My name was cleared, but my first marriage ended.

People pitied Janet Allen, cursing me as a monster unfit for fatherhood. Online, some declared I was fated to be childless.

I spiraled, contemplating ending it all. My parents, desperate to protect me, found me a therapist.

With time, I rebuilt my life, remarried, and had a daughter.

From her birth, I forbade her from calling me Dad. She reached four safely, and I'd nearly forgotten the terror of watching a child die before me.

Now her utterance of "Dad" reignited my nightmare.

"You're sick, Kurt!" Florence snapped. "You're fine with her being mocked as a fatherless child? She calls you Dad, so what? She is fine."

I checked Stephanie from head to toe. She looked fine, which shocked me.

I started to wonder if my curse was broken. Overjoyed but cautious, I insisted she stay in my sight.

Scared of my outburst, she hid behind Florence. "Mom, I don't want to be with Dad."

Florence frowned. "Stop overreacting, Kurt."

Ignoring my protests, she took Stephanie to the bedroom for a nap. But as soon as the door closed, her scream pierced the air.

I raced in and found Florence cradling Stephanie's lifeless body, blood streaming from her eyes, nose, and mouth. My child was gone again.