My Daughter Wanted A New Father So I Let Her Chapter 1

The moment Sasha replaced the wedding photo above our bed with that enormous oil painting—a piece her lab colleague, Blake, had gifted her—I 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? You’re willing to walk away from your little princess, the one you’ve 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 I’d 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 don’t 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 moment’s hesitation, as if I were the one acting unreasonably. Her gaze on me was detached, almost bored.

Just this afternoon, I’d cooked dinner as usual. Roasted short ribs—their 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 I’d 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 Gwen’s mouth, then shot me a fleeting, defensive look. “I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to misinterpret things.”

Blake was Sasha’s mentor from her graduate program, and also, technically, a former colleague of mine. He’d 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, don’t 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.

Sasha’s 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 we’d shared for nearly eight years, I felt stuck. Where do you even begin?

Sasha watched me. “It’s 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 you’re allergic to shellfish—don’t forget that.”

Gwen simply rolled her eyes. She sounded utterly unconcerned.

“Hmph. Mom said you’ll come back in a few days anyway. You don’t 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 don’t like you. I like Uncle Blake. If you don’t come back, Uncle Blake can be my dad.”

Gwen’s words annihilated the last shred of tenderness I held. They say children are honest, and it’s true—only 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.