A Father's Cruel Words

Lily lay in the hospital bed. She looked impossibly small against the white sheets.

When she noticed my troubled expression, she reached out.

Her small, soft hand touched my cheek.

"Mommy, let's forgive Daddy, okay?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but each word was clear. "He must be very busy with important things. That's why he couldn't come today."

She paused, her breathing shallow from the day's emotional turmoil. "I'm not upset anymore. So you don't have to be upset either."

My heart shattered.

Here was my dying daughter, comforting me, making excuses for the father who had abandoned her.

I forced what I hoped was a smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

"Okay, sweetheart."

She was such a good, understanding daughter. And I was the one who had doomed her. I had given her a bastard for a father.

The evening air was cold as I carried Lily to the car. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep during the drive home.

Her small body curled against me. Each breath she took seemed precious.

Our mansion loomed in the darkness.

It was beautiful and cold, like everything else in my life with Damien.

After tucking Lily into her bed, I finally went to face the man. The man who had once been the center of my world.

Damien was in his study. He sat behind his mahogany desk.

When he looked up and saw me, there was a flicker of something in his gray eyes.

Guilt, perhaps.

"I'm sorry about today," he said, his voice carefully measured. "Something urgent came up. I really couldn't get away."

I studied his face. The sharp jawline. The perfectly styled dark hair.

He wore an expensive shirt. It probably cost more than most people make in a month.

"Was your 'urgent matter' taking a dog to the vet?"

His expression hardened instantly. The mask of remorse vanished.

"Are you having me followed?"

"I didn't need to. Isabella was kind enough to post it for the world to see."

The mention of her name made his face change. Even now, even caught in his betrayal, Isabella's name softened something in his eyes.

Damien ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I broke my promise to Lily."

He leaned back in his chair. A dismissive wave of his hand telegraphed just how trivial he considered this betrayal.

"I'll make it up to her. We'll go another day, to the amusement park. I promise. Next time, I won't break my word. I swear."

"There won't be a next time."

He frowned, finally giving me his full attention. "What do you mean?"

"The doctor said Lily could have an emergency at any moment." My voice was steady, factual. "Lily might not have a next time."

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face. Concern, maybe even fear.

But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"You're being dramatic," he said dismissively. "Children are resilient. She'll be fine."

The casual way he brushed off our daughter's condition made something cold settle in my chest.

"If you can't let Isabella go," I said, my voice eerily calm, "then divorce me. I'll step aside for you and Isabella."

Damien stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Divorce over such a small matter? You're being ridiculous, Elara."

He stood up from behind his desk. His height was suddenly intimidating in the confined space.

"Besides," his voice turned cold, cutting. "If you really wanted a divorce, why did you drug me in the first place?"

There it was. Finally. It was the accusation that had poisoned every day of our six-year marriage.

"Isabella had a very hard time abroad these past few years," he continued, beginning to pace behind his desk. "Now she's back in the country with no one to rely on."

He gestured around the opulent study. "Isabella suffered for six years because of that mistake. Marrying you. I give you a luxurious life. I owe her. But rest assured, she won't threaten your position."

I laughed, a sound so bitter it surprised even me.

Living in luxury? What luxury was there in a loveless marriage?

What luxury was there in watching your husband's face light up for another woman? While treating you like an obligation?

What did I have besides the empty title of Mrs. Blackwood?

I thought bitterly.

Well, it didn't matter anymore. I wouldn't be occupying this position much longer anyway.

I composed myself.

A strange sense of detachment washed over me, as if I were watching this unfold from outside my own body.

"Do you really think I've been happy these six years married to you?"

Damien fixed me with a look one might use on a particularly difficult child.

"I married you. I made you Mrs. Blackwood. You haven't had to worry about a single thing. You live in a mansion. You drive expensive cars. I remember your birthday, our anniversary. We have a child. What more could you possibly want?"

I smiled, and this time it felt genuine.

So in his mind, he had given me everything a woman could desire.

But the credit cards he gave me?

Except for Lily's mounting medical expenses, I hadn't spent a single penny of his money.

The designer clothes and jewelry filling my walk-in closet?

I had never worn any of them.

I preferred my simple, comfortable clothes.

As for our daughter, she was indeed my treasure. But soon, even she would be gone. And I would have nothing left of this hollow marriage.

"You feel guilty about Isabella and want to make it up to her. Fine," I said, my voice growing steadier with each word. "But Lily is your daughter. She's innocent in all of this."

I stepped closer to his desk. "As a father, you should keep your word. That's how you set a good example for your child. You can compensate Isabella however you want. You can even give her my position as Mrs. Blackwood if you like."

My voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I just hope you can be a little better to Lily."

Damien's expression turned glacial. His gray eyes became chips of ice.

"You know perfectly well how Lily was conceived," he said, his voice growing colder with each syllable. "If you hadn't drugged me that night, there wouldn't be a child at all."

The words hit me like physical blows, but I remained standing.

"This child was a mistake," he continued, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "But since she is my child, I'll do what a father should do."

A mistake.

He had called our daughter a mistake. Our beautiful, loving, dying daughter.

The room fell silent except for the tick of the antique clock on his bookshelf. Each second stretched out like an eternity.

Then I heard it.

A soft creak.

The almost inaudible click of the doorknob turning.

I looked toward the study entrance and my heart stopped beating.

Lily was standing in the doorway. She looked like a tiny phantom.

She wore her favorite Disney princess pajamas, the ones with Cinderella on the front. The ones she had begged me to buy her last Christmas.

Her dark hair was tousled from sleep, sticking up at odd angles the way it always did when she slept restlessly.

But it was her eyes that broke me.

Those large, expressive eyes, so much like my own. They were wide with a confusion and hurt too deep for any five-year-old.

She had heard everything.

Every cruel word. Every dismissive comment. Every time her father had called her existence a mistake.

"Lily..." I breathed, taking a step toward her.

She didn't move. She didn't speak. She just stood there in her little pajamas, small and vulnerable and completely heartbroken.

Damien spun around, following my gaze. When he saw Lily standing there, his face went white.

For a moment, none of us moved. The silence was deafening.

Then Lily's bottom lip began to tremble.

"Daddy?" she whispered, her voice so small I could barely hear it. "Did you really say I was a mistake?"