She was alone. Her control was gone.
And my daughter? She started asking to stay longer, running into my arms at pickups. Visits stopped feeling like visits—they felt like home.
I stood at her door, my daughter’s hand in mine, her bag packed for our first official weekend together. My ex tried to mask it, but I saw the fatigue in her eyes.
I smiled.
“You were wrong,” I said gently. “You said I’d never see her again. But I will. Often.”
She said nothing, only tightened her lips.
I walked my daughter to the car, buckled her in.
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.
“I love you more, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her forehead.
I got in, closed the door, and drove away.