My Daughter Wanted A New Father So I Let Her

The moment Sasha replaced the wedding photo above our bed with that enormous oil paintinga piece her lab colleague, Blake, had gifted herI felt an utter, bone-deep weariness settle over me.

When I finally put the signed divorce papers in front of her, she kept her expression perfectly cool.

Am I really not allowed to redecorate the bedroom, Ronan? she snapped.

And divorce? Youre willing to walk away from your little princess, the one youve practically molded with your own two hands?

I simply nodded. Yes, I was walking away from both.

After all, my precious daughter was just like her mother.

They both had already put another man first.

Sasha sat across from me, her face blank as she flipped through the divorce papers Id presented. She didn't read them closely, giving them a cursory glance before snapping the file shut.

All this because I changed a painting? You want a divorce over something this trivial?

Think carefully, Ronan. I dont have time for a tantrum. Are you really giving up custody of the daughter you adore?

I glanced at Gwen, who was still camped out on the sofa watching TV, long past her bedtime.

I am.

Sasha signed the agreement without a moments hesitation, as if I were the one acting unreasonably. Her gaze on me was detached, almost bored.

Just this afternoon, Id cooked dinner as usual. Roasted short ribstheir favorite. I watched the clock tick past, but the front door remained silent. I called Sasha. It rang twice, then switched to a 'user busy' signal. She'd obviously declined the call.

It was after ten when the two of them finally came home, cautiously carrying a heavily wrapped canvas. It was the third time Id reheated dinner. Yet, mother and daughter were in silent agreement, gliding past the kitchen as if the table didn't exist, rushing straight to the master bedroom.

I walked to the doorway and watched Sasha preparing to swap out the framed wedding photo.

Why the sudden change? I asked.

Sasha didn't pause in her work. Am I not allowed to hang a piece of art in my own home? she countered.

Gwen stood beside her, stretching onto her tiptoes to help her mother steady the painting. Her eyes sparkled. Mom, when can we go get Five Guys with Uncle Blake again?

Sasha quickly put a hand over Gwens mouth, then shot me a fleeting, defensive look. I didnt mention it because I didnt want you to misinterpret things.

Blake was Sashas mentor from her graduate program, and also, technically, a former colleague of mine. Hed recently transferred jobs and was now working in the same research lab as Sasha.

I lowered my gaze, the image of the cooling ribs and mashed potatoes on the kitchen table burning in my mind. I spoke softly. Next time, dont take Gwen to eat fast food. Her stomach is sensitive.

Fine, Sasha conceded dismissively. She hung the new canvas above the headboard, replacing the spot where our smiling faces had lived for eight years. After adjusting the position to her satisfaction, she smiled, took a photo, and immediately checked her phone.

Wow, Mom, Uncle Blake is so talented. He painted that? Gwen stared at the wall in awe. The painting was a lush, romantic oil landscape. So, Blake was the artist.

Sashas attention was completely fixed on her screen, her face alight with an unfamiliar, almost giddy joy. Gwen, impatient, clambered onto the bed and peered over her shoulder at the phone.

Mom, what are you and Uncle Blake talking about? I want to text him too!

After Sasha had signed the divorce agreement, I planned to leave that very night. But looking around the house wed shared for nearly eight years, I felt stuck. Where do you even begin?

Sasha watched me. Its late. You can leave tomorrow, if you want.

I shook my head. No. Tonight.

I packed a carry-on with only the essentials. The wedding ring went back into the jewelry box; I took nothing else. As I dragged my suitcase to the door and went to change my shoes, Gwen walked up to me, silent and timid.

Seeing this tiny creature I had dedicated six years of my life to, my chest tightened, an involuntary surge of paternal affection.

Your mother and I are getting divorced, I told her. You need to listen to her, and remember to cut out the junk food. And youre allergic to shellfishdont forget that.

Gwen simply rolled her eyes. She sounded utterly unconcerned.

Hmph. Mom said youll come back in a few days anyway. You dont have any friends here; only me and Mom care about you.

Then she stood on her toes, whispering into my ear, her voice a poisonous dart. Dad, you should just stay gone forever. I dont like you. I like Uncle Blake. If you dont come back, Uncle Blake can be my dad.

Gwens words annihilated the last shred of tenderness I held. They say children are honest, and its trueonly a child would bypass all social filters and speak her rawest thought. The daughter I had held in my heart and pampered since birth, never actually liked me.

I said nothing more. I picked up my suitcase and walked out the door.

Gwen was right, in a bleak, undeniable way. I truly had no friends here.

I had been in a long-distance relationship with Sasha back then. Desperate not to lose her, convinced we had a future, I left my familiar hometown, resigned from a job I loved. I was young, burning with a lovers conviction, believing the right person was waiting for me at the end of the road.

And for a time, we were deeply in love. We even had our beautiful daughter, Gwen.

When Gwen needed full-time care, Sasha refused to put her own career on hold.

Marriage doesnt have to mean only the woman makes sacrifices, right? shed said.

I heard the implied plea. Coupled with the fact that the new job Id found in this city was objectively less significant than Sashas high-stakes research position, I decided to become her support systemher stay-at-home husband. I was content, believing that our happiness mattered more than my title.

That was, until Blake was transferred to Sashas lab. Thats when I watched our connection erode, day by day. It faded, it fractured. Even Gwen joined in, more than once asking me to step aside so Blake could be her father.

I stood on the curb of the empty street at 1 AM, waiting for a cab, dragging my suitcase behind me. The late-night breeze felt less desolate than my own heart.

I rented a small studio apartment. It was bright and faced the sun. Before, I would work on research materials and papers from home in the evenings. Just today, Id received good newsId won a small, prestigious grant. The funding wasnt life-changing, but it was enough to sustain me for a year or two.

I woke up this morning to a rare, delicious feeling of leisure. No immediate leap out of bed to the alarm clock, no mad dash to get Gwen ready for school. I looked in the mirror, shaved carefully, and styled my hair. I instantly looked healthier, more energized.

I even signed up for a fitness class. While running around the house and playing with Gwen kept me moving, Id lost significant muscle mass. Other men were rushing to catch the morning subway to their corporate jobs; I was riding the city bus, fighting with retirees over the best produce at the market. Outsiders had whispered that I was 'eating soft rice'a gold-digger. I never cared. I knew the truth: Gwen wouldnt have lived such a pampered life on Sashas salary alone.

I cleared my head of those thoughts and started working on my rsum. I wanted to go back to work, to stand in a real lab, not just sit in front of a computer screen.

That afternoon, I treated myself to my favorite food: spicy fried chicken. Because I was always catering to their mild palates at home, we rarely had anything spicy. Now, biting into the tender chicken, it hit me like a rush. This was another small piece of my old life, gradually returning.

That night, Sasha called. Her voice was flat, typical of her professional tone.

Listen, Im calling about a box of sealed things of yours. I havent opened it. Give me an address, and Ill mail it to you.

I thought for a moment. You can open it. Its just useless junk I kept from when we were together. I dont need it. Throw it out.

Sasha hesitated on the line.

Actually, I added, cutting in, if you find anything else of mine, just dispose of it. Don't bother calling again.

I hung up. That box held old ticket stubs, notes, and silly giftsall those insignificant things you keep when youre building a life. They were just garbage now.

After a few successful interviews, I landed a position at a respected research corporation. They offered me a private lab for my own studies.

I was at the grocery store that afternoon after my shift. At home, I spent hours trying to invent new dishes to satisfy their picky tastes. Now, I needed to satisfy my own stomach.

As I pushed my cart, my phone rang. It was Gwens school.

Mr. Ronan, the teachers voice was strained, I was wondering if you might have forgotten to pick up Gwen today? All the other children have gone home, and shes the only one left.

I checked the time. Gwen had been out of school for over an hour. But I kept pushing my cart. I had no intention of changing my plans.

Teacher, this is the situation: Sasha and I are divorced. She has full custody now. Im going to give you her number. Please call her.

Oh, I see. My apologies. It was just always you who came, and Gwen insisted I call you first. Sorry to bother you. The teacher sounded genuinely apologetic.

I was about to say, 'No problem,' and hang up, but Gwen snatched the phone.

Youre so petty, Dad, she said into the receiver. Mom is busy. You have nothing to do; cant you just get me? Humph, if it were Uncle Blake, hed definitely come get me.

Her words barely registered. They carried no sting.

Gwen, I stated clearly, Your mother and I are divorced. I wont be picking you up anymore. If no one comes for you, you must tell the teacher to call your mother. Or, yes, you can call your Uncle Blake.

I hung up.

I couldnt recall how I had raised her to be this way. When she was little, and Sasha was working non-stop, Id always told Gwen that her mother was working hard and we needed to be understanding. But children quickly internalize the care and devotion of the adult who is always there, viewing it as an inalienable right.

I rubbed my forehead. Whatever. Let her deal with the consequences.

But my phone didn't stop. After dinner that evening, Sasha called again. Her voice was the same as always, cool and even.

Ronan. Gwens stomach bug is back. Ive looked everywhere, but I cant find her medication. Where did you hide it?

I gripped the phone, forcing my anger down. In the cabinet under the TV.

Oh. Found it. Listen, did Gwens teacher call you today? I was in a meeting and ran late. Did I inconvenience you?

I didnt know what she was driving atshe sounded clumsy, like she was trying to start a conversation with thin air.

Yes, you inconvenienced me, I said flatly. So, can you please stop calling me?

In the past, my calls were rejected; she never called me. Now, in just a few days, the calls were stacking up.

I changed my number. Over the next few weeks, Sasha didn't call. I immersed myself in the lab, often staying an entire day. Here, I reconnected with my earliest ambition. It felt like college again. I used to be a student who lived and breathed research. At some point, my dreams, my core, had been subsumed by the demands of a life I had willingly chosen to abandon myself for.

The department head walked in to tell me I had a new project I needed to take over. I pulled off my gloves and stepped out. In the waiting area, I saw two familiar figures.

Sasha. And beside her, Gwen.

Through the glass, Sasha was awkwardly explaining to the department head why she had brought her daughter to the office.

I walked into the room. Sashas brow furrowed almost imperceptibly at the sight of me.

Dad Gwen muttered, tugging on Sashas jacket.

Ah, here he is, the department head said, pointing to me. This is the head of the project; hell handle the transition.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and offered a faint smile. Director, no need for introductions. This is my ex-wife. Ill take it from here. You can go back to your work.

The director offered an uncomfortable laugh and left the room.

I looked at the file in my hands. By my count, your team should have one more person.

Just as I spoke, a knock came at the door. Blake walked in.

Sorry, Im late.