No Longer His Little Girl

Watching Marcus Doakes hurry away, I didn't shed a single tear.

I held Nora's hand and turned toward the curb to hail a cab.

The car was quiet.

Nora sat in the back seat, still clutching the half-eaten cotton candy in her hand.

At a red light, the cab stopped.

Nora suddenly rolled down the window and calmly removed the pink Minnie Mouse headband from her hair.

It was the souvenir Marcus had bought her at the amusement park entrance before we set out.

She didn't hesitate at all.

With one clean flick, she tossed it straight into the trash can by the road.

The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror and said in surprise, "Little girl, why throw away such a pretty headband?"

Nora didn't look at him.

She only watched the street blur past outside the window, her voice young but steady. "It's dirty. I don't want it anymore."

I looked at how practiced that movement was, and my heart ached.

I knew very well.

She wasn't only learning to call him Mister.

She was also learning to cut off the last bit of hope she had for a father's love.

When we got home, I walked straight into the study.

I opened the computer, entered the password, and clicked into the encrypted folder.

The printer began to rumble.

Two documents slid out.

One was my transfer confirmation to the Melbourne branch.

The other was Nora's school withdrawal and transfer application.

Half a year ago, using the excuse that I wanted to take Nora to an Australian summer camp, I'd had Marcus sign all the documents needed for overseas travel. He hadn't even looked at them.

I placed the papers in a kraft envelope and sealed it.

Then I dragged a chest-high cardboard box out of the storage room and began sorting.

In the closet, every piece of clothing Marcus had bought, even the couture princess dresses Nora had never worn once, went into the box.

In the toy chest, every stuffed animal Marcus had casually bought as a way to brush her off was thrown away.

Nora stood at the doorway, holding her little bunny plush.

She watched me stuff the giant Barbie castle into a trash bag.

It was the gift Marcus had asked his secretary to buy at random for her birthday last year.

"Mom."

"Mm?"

"That castle takes up too much space. Throw it away."

There wasn't a trace of reluctance in her voice.

"Okay."

I tied the trash bag shut and pushed it outside.

At eight that night, Clara Lane's social media updated right on time.

The photo was of fireworks blooming over the fairytale castle at the amusement park.

In the picture, Marcus was carrying Jacey on his shoulders, smiling with indulgent affection.

Clara leaned against his side, half her body pressed close to him.

The caption read: "Jacey said today was the first day she didn't feel like a poor little girl with no dad to protect her. Thank you to someone special, who always shows up first and becomes our mother-daughter superhero."

Marcus had liked it instantly.

In the past, seeing a post like that would have made me call Marcus right away.

I would have screamed my questions into the phone.

I would have stayed awake all night.

But tonight, I looked at the screen and felt nothing.

I calmly tapped Like.

Then I opened Clara's and Marcus's chat windows and muted them both.

After her bath, Nora walked over in her pajamas.

She climbed onto the bed and accidentally caught sight of my phone screen.

The fireworks in the picture were dazzling.

She didn't cry or make a fuss.

She only pulled the blanket over herself like a sensible child.

"Mom."

"Mm?"

"When are we going to Australia to see kangaroos?"

She blinked, her voice very soft.

"That mister isn't coming, right?"