Chapter 6

Long after Lucy fell asleep, I sat staring at that drawing.

The non-existent dog, the grassy field we had never visited, and Ethan, smiling so tenderly in the crayon sketch.

It hit me then—in Lucy's drawings, her father always had time. Time to fly kites with her, time to go on picnics.

She didn't care about the places. She just wanted her dad.

And all these years, I had constantly reassured her: Daddy is just busy working hard for our family.

For the very first time, I began to doubt myself. Was I comforting my daughter, or was I just covering up for my husband?

"Ethan."

He stuck his head out from the study. "Yeah?"

I laid the drawing on the desk in front of him. "Do you know what Lucy drew today?"

He glanced at it and chuckled. "It's really nice. Her imagination is getting so vivid."

"This isn't imagination," I said softly. "This is the life she wishes she had."

Ethan paused. "What do you mean?"

"She told her teacher that we go to the park together every weekend," I said, looking up into his eyes. "She told her class that your favorite thing is playing with her. Ethan... almost none of those things ever happened."

The room fell dead silent. He stared at the paper for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh. "I know I've been around a bit less lately. Once Ben stabilizes, I'll make it up to her."

Make it up to her. There it was again.

I realized the phrases heard most often in our home weren't "I love you." They were later, next time, and I'll make it up to you.

For the first time in my life, I didn't go along with him.

"Do you know what Lucy said to me after the Family Breakfast?"

He stared at me, silent.

"She asked if she should make two 'DAD' cards next time," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "So you could give her spot away to someone else's child without having to choose."

The smile completely drained from Ethan's face. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

"She didn't even blame you," I continued quietly. "She just thought she hadn't done enough. Ethan, an eight-year-old child is making excuses for her forty-one-year-old father. Doesn't that terrify you?"

He lowered his head at last, whispering after a long pause, "I never meant to hurt her."

"I know," I replied calmly. "But the damage is already done. Not because you don't love her, but because you always assume she'll understand. Have you noticed that Lucy doesn't ask if you're coming anymore? She only asks when you're free. She isn't growing up, Ethan—she's just slowly giving up on expecting anything from you."

He sat there frozen, rendered speechless.

Finally, he pulled out his phone and opened the video of Lucy's violin solo—four full days after her performance.

On the screen, Lucy stood under the spotlight in her white dress. Her eyes instinctively darted toward the front row, finding only an empty seat.

As the video played, a low whisper from the person recording echoed softly through the speakers: "Poor thing... she's still looking for her dad."

Ethan's hand trembled. He didn't close the video, but he couldn't keep watching either. He placed the phone face-down on the table and sat motionless, head bowed.

I knew that, in this moment, he finally realized what he had missed.

Yet I felt no sense of relief. Because some things, once broken, can't be restored just because you realize you were wrong.

The next morning, Lucy put on her backpack as usual. As she reached the front door, she turned around.

"Dad?"

Ethan set his coffee cup down immediately. "What's up, sweetie?"

Lucy gave a small smile. "Nothing. Just wanted to tell you that we have a reading share at school today." She paused briefly. "But it's totally fine. You don't need to come."

With a gentle wave, she said, "Bye, Dad," and walked out.

The moment the door clicked shut, a heavy, eerie silence engulfed the house. Ethan stood frozen in the hallway for a long time.

Because for the very first time, Lucy hadn't invited him.

I grabbed my car keys, preparing to drive Lucy to school.

Ethan called out to me suddenly. "Nora, I'll come home early tonight. We'll all have dinner together, I promise."

I turned around slowly.

In the past, every time he said "I promise," I would believe him, make excuses for him, and smooth things over.

But today, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me.

I shook my head gently. "Don't bother, Ethan."

"Starting today, I'm done telling Lucy 'Daddy is just busy.' If you can't make it, tell her yourself."

His pupils dilated in shock.

Without another glance, I turned toward the entryway. Passing the wall calendar, I paused.

It was covered in detailed notes listing all of Lucy's important events for the month: Reading Share, Science Fair, Parent-Child Picnic, Summer Camp Info Session. Beside every single entry was my handwriting: Remind Ethan.

I took a pen and crossed out every single note, one by one.

I had finally realized something: All these years, the person who kept Lucy waiting wasn't just Ethan. It was me. I was the one constantly telling her to wait a little longer, that Daddy would come.

Starting today, I was done protecting Ethan's image as a father.

From now on, the only thing I would protect was Lucy's heart.