Her Son, Not Ours

It was mid-semester at my daughter Nina's kindergarten, and the teacher gave every child a memory book, asking both mom and dad to write one sentence each in it. Nina carefully circled the words "Message from Dad" with a colored marker and placed the book right in the middle of the dining table. But Benjamin Carter only glanced at it and said, "This is just a formality. It doesn't matter if Mom writes it." That same night, however, he sat at Amelia Hart's dining table and wrote two full pages in her son Oliver's memory book. Oliver kept sending voice messages to the class group chat, reading the line "Daddy will always be proud of you" over and over. When Nina saw it, she didn't cry. She only asked me, "Didn't Dad say he doesn't like writing these?" I didn't answer. I quietly put her blank page into a drawer. The next morning, Nina stopped Benjamin and handed him the memory book. "Dad, you only have to write one sentence." He irritably took the pen. But in the end, he scrawled only one perfunctory sentence: Grow up healthy. Nina stared at those three words and slowly closed the book. Instead, Benjamin became annoyed. "What else do you want me to write? I'm already exhausted from working every day." Seeing Nina's eyes dim in an instant, I calmly tore that page out of the memory book. It didn't matter. Since he didn't want to be Nina's dad, he wouldn't be her dad anymore. ***** Benjamin's brows knitted together instantly as he watched the pieces of paper drift down onto the rug. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "Aren't you the one who said you didn't want to write it?" My tone was calm as I knelt down to pick up the scraps. "You're tearing Nina's book up right in front of her? Are you trying to teach her to express her frustration in such an extreme way?" He tugged at his tie, his tone full of impatience. I didn't look up as I gathered the scraps into my palm. "I'm out entertaining clients every day, working myself to death for this family," Benjamin said, looking down at me. "You stay home all day, and you're making a fuss over something as small as writing a note?" Nina stood by the dining table, her small hand clutching the hem of her shirt. She didn't cry. She just stared at him blankly with eyes so much like Benjamin's. "I'm sorry, Daddy." Benjamin froze for a second. The irritation on his face eased a little. He walked over and perfunctorily ruffled Nina's hair. "This weekend, I will take you out for pizza, okay?" Nina didn't nod or shake her head. She just stepped back half a step, avoiding his hand. Benjamin's hand froze in mid-air, and his expression darkened again. "Do whatever you want." He pulled his hand back, turned, and walked to the entryway to get his briefcase. Just then, his phone rang. The special ringtone was Amelia's. Benjamin answered. His cold, hard tone instantly softened. "What's wrong, Amelia? "Don't worry, I'm on my way. "Your ankle still hasn't healed. Don't come downstairs. I'll go straight up to get him." He changed his shoes while talking on the phone. He didn't even glance back at Nina and me. He opened the door and left. The moment the door closed, the living room was so quiet that only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard. I tossed the scraps of paper in my hand into the trash, then walked over to Nina. "Go change into your school uniform. I will take you to kindergarten." I took her small hand in mine. Nina looked up at me. "Mom, Oliver was crying again, wasn't he?" My throat tightened, and I said nothing. "Every time Daddy hears Oliver cry, he runs over right away." Nina lowered her head and looked at her toes. "Is it because I don't cry much that Daddy doesn't like me anymore?" I knelt down and pulled her into my arms. "No," I said softly, patting her back gently. "You're a good girl. This is Daddy's fault." After dropping Nina off, I went back to the empty house. My phone screen lit up. There was a new message in the class group chat. Amelia had posted a video. In the video, Benjamin was carrying Oliver in one arm and striding toward the kindergarten gate. Oliver was holding a limited-edition Transformers action figure in his hand, smiling happily. Amelia sent a message in the group. Amelia: Thank goodness for Oliver's dad, or this little troublemaker would have missed school again today. Below was a string of flattering comments from other parents. A: Oliver's dad is so responsible! B: Mr. Carter is so busy with work but still takes time to drop Oliver off himself. What a great guy. Amelia didn't explain that Benjamin was only Oliver's godfather. Benjamin was in the group too, and he didn't clarify anything. I opened Benjamin's i********: feed. He had posted an update 10 minutes ago. The photo showed Oliver smiling as he held up the Transformers action figure. Little man, promise your godfather you won't shed any more tears. I stared at that photo for a long time. That Transformers action figure was the one Nina had stared at through the mall display window for a long time last month. At the time, Benjamin had said, "What kind of girl plays with Transformers? That's too rough for a girl." But then he bought it for Amelia's son. I calmly closed i********:, opened my contacts, and dialed a number. "Hello, Mr. Liam Nash." "Yes, it's me." "I'd like to ask—if I am a stay-at-home mom who works part-time, what are my chances of winning custody of my daughter?"