Chapter 1

The clock on the wall struck nine, and Gloria’s husband still wasn’t home.

She forced a smile and turned toward her daughter. “It’s getting late, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed.”

Seven-year-old Annabel sat curled up on the couch in her pink Barbie birthday dress, her eyes fixed on the front door as if sheer will could make it open. The balloons Gloria had tied around the living room drifted quietly above her head, their ribbons swaying with each hum of the air conditioner.

“No,” Annabel said softly. “Daddy said he’d come before we cut the cake.”

Gloria’s chest tightened.

“He will,” she replied gently, stroking her daughter’s hair though her throat felt dry. “Maybe he got stuck in traffic.”

Annabel didn’t argue, but her little fingers twisted the fabric of her dress anxiously. They’d been waiting since five. At first, Annabel had raced to the window with every flash of headlights. By seven, she’d started asking when her father would arrive. By eight, she’d stopped asking altogether.

Now she just waited.

Gloria couldn’t take it anymore. She walked over and knelt in front of her daughter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come on, baby. We can blow the candles tomorrow morning with Daddy, okay?”

Annabel’s lower lip trembled. “Mommy, did Daddy forget?”

The question stabbed Gloria’s heart like a knife.

“No,” she said quickly. “Daddy would never forget you.”

But even as the words left her mouth, Gloria knew she was lying. Victor had forgotten plenty before—school events, family dinners, anniversaries. Promises.

Still, Annabel nodded weakly and let her mother carry her to bed. She wrapped her little arms around Gloria’s neck and clung tightly, as if afraid she might vanish too.

“I wanted to make a wish with him,” Annabel whispered against her shoulder.

“I know, baby,” Gloria murmured, kissing her hair.

After Annabel fell asleep, Gloria stayed beside her for a while, staring at the tear tracks on her cheeks. She wiped them gently with her thumb and removed the Barbie outfit, which Annabel had been eager to show her father earlier. Gloria’s heart ached with guilt and helplessness.

When she returned to the dining room, the birthday cake sat untouched on the table, the seven candles still unlit. Victor’s chair was empty.

Again.

Gloria picked up her phone and stared at his name on the screen for a long moment, deciding whether to call him or not, before pressing the call button.

He answered after the fifth ring.

“Hello?” Victor’s voice came from the other end of the phone. He was breathing very hard, like he was running a marathon.

Gloria’s stomach dropped. She knew what Victor was doing.

“Victor,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “where are you? Annabel waited for you.”

There was a short pause.

“I’m busy tonight,” he replied.

Gloria tightened her grip on the phone. “She sat by the door for four hours. She wanted to cut the cake with you.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” he said impatiently. “Just buy her something. Use the card.”

Gloria’s chest tightened. She could not believe what she was hearing.

“She didn’t want something,” she whispered. “She wanted her father.”

A woman’s laugh suddenly echoed through the line.

“Oh my God,” the woman said loudly. “Is that your ugly wife again?”

Gloria’s body went still.

Victor muttered something she couldn’t hear, but the woman didn’t bother lowering her voice.

“Seriously? You’re still talking to her?” she continued. “We were in the middle of something, and I was about to cum before you stopped.”

The words hit Gloria like ice water. Images flashed through her mind: lipstick on his collar, late-night “meetings,” the afternoon she had received a text message from an anonymous number urging her to go to the Pacific Hotel, room 201, that Victor was in trouble. Only for her to go there and see Victor naked, buried deep inside his secretary.

He’d cried that day. Begged for forgiveness. Promised it would never happen again. Apparently, it had.

“Hey,” the woman suddenly said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “If you’re asking when he’s coming home, don’t bother. He’s staying with me tonight, and I might allow him to come back tomorrow if you beg me.”

Gloria’s fingers shook so badly she had to grab the edge of the table to steady herself.

Victor didn’t deny it. Didn’t apologize. Instead, he sighed. “Don’t start drama, Gloria. Just take Annabel out to have some fun.”

“Drama? Our daughter cried herself to sleep,” Gloria said, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. “It’s her birthday.”

“I said I’ll handle it. I was doing a very rigorous exercise before your call interrupted me,” he replied coldly. Then the call ended.

Gloria stood there staring at the dark screen, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. For a moment, the house felt suffocatingly quiet.

A tear slipped down her cheek and fell into the glass of wine in her hand. She let out a bitter laugh.

What was she still hoping for? That he’d change? That he’d become the man she’d married eight years ago, before the long hours at work turned into excuses, before the charm faded into indifference?

Her eyes drifted to the papers on the table. The divorce documents her lawyer had brought over that morning.

She’d taken them out earlier that evening after putting Annabel to bed, telling herself she just wanted to look at them.

Now they felt heavier than anything she’d ever held. If she signed them, everything would change. Her mother would be disappointed—Victor was her mother’s favorite son-in-law. Any time she complained about Victor, her mother was always quick to take his side: “All men cheat, so stop whining.”

Gloria knew people would gossip and Annabel would grow up in a broken home. But then she heard her daughter's voice in her head again: “Mommy, did Daddy forget?” And Gloria realized the truth—the home was already broken.

She picked up the pen with a shaky hand and signed her name: Gloria Anderson. She stared at her signature and her name under it. Anderson was Victor’s surname, and now that she’s divorcing him, she doesn’t need his surname anymore.

Her chest tightened as she slowly and deliberately crossed it out, replacing it with her maiden name: Zachary. Tears slipped from cheeks and landed on the papers.

"I'm doing the right thing for my daughter." Gloria muttered to herself.