After Divorce, No Longer Waiting for Him

Chapter 3

Tom's expression shifted instantly. He rushed to River's side, shielding her like some fragile porcelain doll.

"Amber, have you lost your damn mind!?"

My eyes were burning red. "River, say whatever you want about me, but don't you dare drag my daughter into this."

River blinked innocently, feigning surprise. "Did I lie? If you hadn't trapped Tom with that child and taught her to fake illnesses to keep him around, none of this would've happened. He never belonged to you."

I turned to Tom, my voice low and cold. "Is that what you really think?"

He didn't answer. But the silence said everything.

Back then, no one could've forced Tom into anything. If he hadn't wanted to marry me, he wouldn't have. He did it because River dumped him, and I was just...convenient. Our daughter was born with hemophilia, one bump, one tiny cut could be fatal. I spent years walking on eggshells to keep her safe. She adored him. She blamed herself every time she got sick, terrified that her father would hate her for it.

And I, God, I begged him. I swallowed my pride and begged him to just look at her. Spend five minutes with her. A smile. A word. Anything.

But all this time, he thought she was faking it. That I taught her to lie to manipulate him.

I almost laughed.

For years, I'd played the obedient wife, pretending everything was fine. And our little girl, sweet, fragile, heartbreakingly gentle, had spent her short life hoping her daddy would love her back. We weren't a family. We were props in Tom's never-ending love story with his precious River.

And suddenly, I couldn't remember what I'd ever seen in him.

River clutched her cheek and sniffled. "Tom... my face hurts. Is it swollen?"

I hadn't held back when I slapped her. Her cheek was already puffing up.

"Amber, apologize!" Tom barked. It wasn't a request, it was an order.

"Apologize?" I repeated, stunned. "For what?"

His jaw clenched. "Don't push me."

Once, that would've terrified me. I used to be so scared of upsetting him, so scared he'd leave. I kept my voice soft. I walked on eggshells. All for him, and for our daughter.

But not anymore.

River put on her fake sweet voice. "Tom, don't let this come between us. Oh, is that a knitted Hawaiian silversword she's holding? Your dog loves that flower, remember?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Amber, give her the flower. Let's just put this behind us."

Put it behind us?

His tone was condescending, like he was doing me a favor.

I clutched the flower tighter, my voice sharp. "Over my dead body."

That flower wasn't for River. And it sure as hell wasn't for his dog.

It was my daughter's favorite.

She used to say the Hawaiian silversword could survive up to ninety years and only bloom once, after sixty. She admired its resilience. She had only seen pictures of it online, but she loved how rare and beautiful it was. She once said, "Mommy, I want to be strong like this flower. I want to bloom, too."

She was only six years old.

She wanted someone to knit her a bunch of silverswords. I didn't even know how to knit, but I taught myself. I stayed up night after night, poking my fingers raw, getting blisters with every failed attempt. And when I finally finished, she hugged it every night, smiling like it was the most precious thing in the world.

She never got to see it bloom for real.

On her birthday, her sixth birthday, she waited all day at the hospital for her dad to show up. She kept asking when he'd come. I tried to distract her with cake. And then... she cut her arm on the corner of the cake box. The bleeding wouldn't stop.

I had padded every surface in that room, tables, chairs, walls, everything. But I missed that damn box. His box.

The doctors did everything they could. But her blood wouldn't clot.

Before she lost consciousness, she whispered, "Mom... did Daddy come yet?"

And then... she was gone.

And now they wanted her flower, for a dog.

My hands trembled, but my voice was steady.

"You're dreaming."