Chapter 1

For twelve years, my wife only let me touch her twice a month—like a standing dentist appointment.

I thought she was just cold.

Then, one night, I saw her on the street with her first love.

The same woman who froze me out was smiling like summer.

Our daughter stood between them, holding his hand and calling him Daddy.

I didn't make a scene. I walked home, pulled the papers I'd already drafted, and signed.

*****

It was already midnight when my wife, Emily, finally came home with our daughter, Jessica.

Emily had a massive bouquet of flowers cradled in her arms.

My face fell, and without even thinking, I swatted the flowers right out of her hands.

Jessica's voice rang out, sharp and accusing. "What are you doing? That's a gift Mr. Turner gave me."

She hurriedly scooped the flowers off the floor. Emily just stood there, her expression cold as she looked at me.

"Are you crazy?" she snapped.

I watched their icy faces, and it felt like someone was ripping my heart apart with a blunt knife.

My wife and daughter acted like they'd forgotten I had bad asthma and pollen could kill me.

I tried to speak, but a tightness in my chest made each breath harder and harder.

Yet, not even a hint of concern showed on their faces.

Emily just shot me a frosty glare. "Why are you making a fuss again? If you're sick, go to the hospital yourself. I've got work in the morning. I don't have time for this."

Jessica hugged her bouquet tight, face full of annoyance. "Stop being so dramatic, will you? I need to sleep for school. Don't mess up my night."

Holding onto the last bit of strength I had, I flagged down a cab and dragged myself to the hospital.

When I got there, my asthma had already thrown me into shock, and they rushed me straight into the ICU.

When I finally woke up in the ward, there was no one there for me.

Too weak to do much, I called a nurse to help remove my IV. As she worked, she warned me seriously, "You had a major allergic reaction this time. You must stay away from pollen, or it could be fatal."

I could only nod feebly, feeling bitterness swallow me whole inside.

When I got home, Emily and Jessica were just as indifferent as ever about my asthma attack last night.

Emily shot me a stern look. "You know you have asthma. Why didn't you just stay away?"

She questioned me like I was the one at fault.

I managed to ask in a weak voice, "So why did you bring those flowers home when you know I'm allergic?

Jessica just sided with Emily and snapped, "Mom's got way too much on her plate to remember everything. If you wind up in trouble, that's your own fault—you're just asking for it."

I looked at her, the daughter I'd poured my heart and soul into raising, and felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Slowly, I looked at her and asked softly, "And you? Did you forget I'm allergic to pollen, too?"

She just said, "I've got so much homework and so much to keep track of. How am I supposed to remember every little thing?"

She answered so offhandedly, as if whether I lived or died was just another trivial detail to her.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm, then looked straight at Emily and said, "Let's get a divorce."

"Divorce? Just because of some flowers?" Emily said, her voice flat.

I shook my head. "It's not just about the flowers."

She shot back, "Then what is it? Because I didn't spend Valentine's Day with you?

"Or are you just being paranoid again? Jessica was with me all day yesterday. What could I possibly have done?

"I've told you before, I don't want you interfering in my life. I have my own job, my own friends, and my own things to deal with. I can't spend my life catering to you."

She acted like she was completely justified, never doubting herself for a second.

I just listened in silence, my heart sinking with cold emptiness.

She never owned up to anything—every time, it was me who had to take all the blame, just because I wouldn't blindly accept everything she wanted.

"So from now on, I won't get in your way anymore. We're getting divorced," I told her calmly.

Just then, Jessica cut in, "If you two get divorced, I'm not going with you."

I shot her a mocking smile. "Did I ever say I wanted you? Even if you wanted to follow me, I wouldn't want you anyway."

"Enough," Emily snapped, her face stern. "Andrew, stop making a scene. I'm running out of patience."

With that, she turned and walked back to her study.

I sat there in silence, trying to calm myself as I applied medicine to my raw, swollen skin.

Jessica shot me a look of pure disgust. "That's nasty," she spat.

She walked right past me, not bothering to hide how little she cared.

I watched her head upstairs and couldn't get over how bitterly ironic it was.

That was the wife I'd loved for years. That was the daughter I'd poured out my heart for.

Early the next morning, I left and headed straight back to my parents' place.

They still lived in that old apartment building I'd called home since I was a kid.

I still remembered that year I brought Jessica over to visit.

She scanned the place and then suddenly blurted out, "Your family's so poor. You're really lucky that Mom picked you."

At that time, I figured she was just a kid who didn't know any better, and let it slide.

But looking back, I realized she had already changed a long time ago, all thanks to the way Emily raised her.

Emily's heart was always stuck on her first love, and her contempt for me only got worse as the years went by. So of course, Jessica just picked up on that and saw me as nothing but a useless dad.

Standing outside my parents' place, I found myself reaching for the door again and again, only to let my hand fall every time. I just couldn't bring myself to knock.

Yesterday, on Valentine's Day, my mom had called to check on me. I had told her I had been celebrating with Emily and Jessica.

"Andrew, is that you?"

A familiar voice called out behind me. I turned, and there was my dad, returning from grocery shopping.

He paused for a moment, and then his face lit up with a look of delight.

"Why did you suddenly show up? You didn't even give me a call. What are you doing just standing out here? Come on, get inside."

He quickly opened the door and ushered me warmly into the house.

The warmth of home hit me, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of warmth in my cold, empty heart.

My mom walked over, smiling brightly.

She said, "Your dad was just saying yesterday how it's been ages since we celebrated a holiday together. Perfect timing. We'll make up for it today and have a late Valentine's Day dinner.

"Remember how much you used to love your dad's roast chicken? It's been a long time since you last had it. Let him show off his skills today."

Of course, I remembered. There was a time when Dad put his heart into making roast chicken just for Jessica, all excited for her to try it.

That meal had always felt like a big family event to me, but Jessica barely touched it. She took a few bites, turned up her nose, and said it was way too bland—totally not her thing.

I told her, "You shouldn't just knock someone's effort like that. It's rude."

She muttered a half-hearted apology, but after that, she barely came by anymore, and even when she did, she acted like she couldn't care less about family dinners.