Chapter 3

Emily was a pro at death-by-a-thousand cuts, all while keeping everything looking nice and peaceful on the surface.

So in the past, it was always just me, screaming and falling apart, while she'd watch me unravel—cool as ice—and throw out some line about me being the one who couldn't control my emotions.

A couple of days later, she'd act like nothing was wrong, sometimes tossing in a gift just to paper over the bad vibes from before.

To everyone else, she was the picture-perfect wife, always seeming to understand and accept her husband no matter what.

And even with the divorce looming, she made sure to keep up appearances. She didn't short me a single cent—she wanted everyone to see just how generous and gracious she could be.

All so she could put out the story that we broke up on good terms, both of us leaving with our dignity fully intact.

I used to swallow my feelings again and again. All those envy-inducing gifts she gave me? I just stashed them away, never using a single one.

But she never realized that I never actually accepted any of them.

But honestly, I couldn't care less about her little mind games anymore. I wasn't going to play along or keep searching for proof of how much she did or didn't love me.

Emily didn't hesitate to sign because she believed I'd come crawling back someday.

I threw my stuff together in record time, even including those gifts she'd handed out just to patch things up whenever she pleased.

They were worth a lot, and I wouldn't be as foolish as before to reject them.

Back then, I bent over backward trying to prove I loved Emily for her, never once trying to take advantage.

Looking back, I was just stupid. I should've socked away some emergency money ages ago.

But honestly, it wasn't a bad deal. What I got out of the divorce was nothing to sneeze at—if I told anyone, they'd say I made out like a bandit.

I cut ties with the Swanson family for good—even my daughter.

After the divorce, I tried just about everything to get my mind off things: traveling, meditating, and tagging along with volunteer groups out in a remote, poor place.

That was where I met Lucas Smith—a kid pretty much raising himself.

Both his parents were gone. He lived with his grandpa, who barely noticed whether he was around or not.

Lucas had a little of Jessica around the eyes, but when it came to their personalities? Couldn't be more different.

He was quiet, a little unsure of himself, but always polite, eager to learn, ready to help out, and genuinely grateful for anything people did for him.

Most kids just grabbed the supplies and ran, but he actually wrote a thank-you letter to every single volunteer—handwritten.

One night, while everyone else was fast asleep, I found him all alone outside, tending a small fire to drive the mosquitoes away for everyone.

I couldn't sleep, so I wandered out and saw him at it.

When he saw me, his cheeks flushed bright red, and he got all flustered, quickly explaining, "I'm not up to anything bad, just trying to keep the mosquitoes away for everyone."

He was pretty thin, his skin tanned from the sun, and though his clothes and shoes were battered and old, they were still clean.

His shoes were so washed out that they looked nearly white. I could tell he really treasured them.

Lucas and Jessica were the same age, yet their lives couldn't have been more different.

Lucas was grateful for a couple of old books and hand-me-down clothes.

But Jessica? She just soaked up everything handed to her, barely batted an eye, and still managed to nitpick and slam whatever she got.

As her dad, I poured my heart and soul into her, took care of every little thing, and tried to shield her from the world.

And what did I get in return?

Just because we were related by blood, did she think I should love her forever?

No way.

I was the one who got to decide who deserved my love.

Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I started chatting with Lucas.

The more I got to know him, the more I genuinely liked him, and the more my heart went out to him.

He was mature and clever, but never showed off.

He was well aware of his own circumstances, and every bit of kindness others showed him genuinely meant a lot.

I asked him, "Don't you ever feel like people are just giving you charity, or pitying you? Doesn't that hurt your self-esteem?"

His eyes went wide in disbelief, and he blurted out, "How could I ever think that? That's just people showing kindness. I should feel lucky, not hurt."

But I knew if it were Jessica, she'd definitely see it the opposite way.

Lucas was doing great in school. He dreamed that education could be his ticket out, a way to see what else the world had to offer.

Before his parents passed away, he'd been surrounded by love, too.

Though his parents weren't with him, they always made sure he had what he needed. They promised again and again that once life was more stable, they'd take him out to see the world and attend school.

They called him often, telling him about everything they'd seen and gone through.

Sadly, a car accident shattered the family that should have been so full of hope.

I decided to sponsor Lucas, bring him to the city where I lived, and put him in the same school as Jessica.

There was no hidden motive. That was the best school in town.

And Lucas could only transfer if he buckled down and passed the entrance exam.

Lucas looked up at me. "Are you gonna be my dad now?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I'm not here to tie you up with labels or obligations. Just think of me as someone walking alongside you on this part of your journey.

"I don't expect anything in return, and I'm not just going to help you without any boundaries. If you ever lose your way or forget what really matters, I won't hesitate to take back my support."

Lucas nodded thoughtfully, but I caught a flash of disappointment in his eyes.

After a quiet beat, I added, "But if you want to, you can call me Dad when we're out in the world."

His eyes suddenly lit up, and he flashed a bright, genuine smile.

For a moment, irony hit me hard—it all felt so surreal.

My daughter barely cared about me, yet Lucas—a total stranger—lit up with utter joy just for the chance to call me "Dad."