She Walked Away

As I heard my daughter's words, my nose stung, and tears fell.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

Nina scrambled to wipe them away with her small hands, her voice trembling. "Did I do something wrong?"

Her hands were soft against my face, but her eyes were full of fear.

Something tightened in my chest like a fist closing around cotton.

My daughter hadn't always been like this. She used to be bold, confident, radiant. On her first day of preschool, every other kid had clung to their parents and cried. Nina was the only one who'd marched off, calling back over her shoulder, "Don't miss me too much, Mommy—I'm off to school!"

She'd been the liveliest kid in her class, the ringleader, the one who loved to dance and sing and always ended up front and center at every little recital.

So when had she become this quiet, this frightened?

My throat closed up, and it took me a long moment to get the words out. "Nina, it's Mommy who did something wrong."

It was my fault. I shouldn't have let her watch me swallow every humiliation in this marriage. A child like her deserved to be shown only good things.

I sat in the living room until well past midnight, until I finally heard Ethan Lane's car pull in.

He opened the door and seemed surprised to see me still up. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

There had been a time, once, when things were good between us. He used to come straight home after work, cake or coffee in hand—whatever I was craving that day—and we'd curl up on the couch together, watching shows, talking about nothing in particular.

But ever since Vivian Shaw walked into our lives three years ago, I'd gotten used to Ethan coming home late. He always had an excuse ready: her kid had a fever. Her kid needed a bedtime story. Her kid woke up from a nightmare and needed comforting.

I'd once demanded, half out of my mind, "Who exactly is your wife here? Who's your daughter?"

All I got back was ice. "Vivian's raising Crystal all alone. Do you have any idea how hard that is, Rachel?"

That question always stopped me cold. My own parents had divorced when I was six. Nobody understood better than I did what it did to a kid, growing up in a broken home.

I took a breath and kept my voice level. "Nina's supposed to start at Lincoln Elementary soon. You said you'd sort it out—did you?"

Ethan's brow furrowed, already impatient. "No spots left.

"It's just elementary school. What's the difference? Lincoln's clear across town anyway—this way you won't have to bother driving her back and forth. Besides, is there something wrong with a regular school?"

I was about to argue when a soft sound came from Nina's room. She was standing in the doorway, hugging her teddy bear, looking up at her father with hesitant hope. "Daddy, my preschool's having a family field day this weekend. Can you spend the day with me?"

Ethan didn't even blink. "I already promised Crystal I'd go with her.

"Nina, you're older than Crystal. You need to learn to give way to her since she's younger. Crystal doesn't have a dad—people will laugh at her."

Something in me snapped. "And what exactly are you to Crystal, that you get to go to her family field day? Whose father are you supposed to be?"

His face hardened further. "Don't blow this out of proportion—it's kid stuff. Nina gets to have her father around every single day. Crystal doesn't have one at all anymore. Rachel, could you show a little compassion? Could you try setting a good example for our daughter?"

With that, he turned and walked into the guest room. I listened to the lock click into place, and something inside me went cold.

Crystal Shaw was the same age as Nina—they were even at the same preschool. Ethan had thought plenty about how Crystal might get laughed at for not having a father. But had he ever once stopped to wonder whether Nina might get laughed at for having a father who'd moved on to be someone else's dad?

I looked at my daughter's frightened little face, swallowed everything I was feeling, and coaxed her into bed. She drifted off obediently enough, but there were still tears clinging, bright and unshed, at the corners of her eyes. I wiped them away in silence, my chest aching.

My daughter was barely two weeks older than Crystal, and yet Ethan kept forcing her to give things up—her favorite snacks, her toys, and now, even her own father.

My phone lit up. I opened the company notice about the transfer to Ashford again.