Daughter Called Another Man “Dad”,So I Left

Ever since the two girls were born, Wilfred had treated them like precious treasures, afraid they might melt if he so much as breathed on them. Everything related to the children—medicine, supplies, schedules—he kept under his personal care. No one else was allowed to touch any of it.

Not even the housekeeper.

"Fine, I'll call him."

Hildegarde pulled out her phone and dialed Wilfred's number.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

"How dare he!"

"Wilfred, you bastard! You actually blocked my number!"

Rage flickered in Hildegarde's bright eyes.

There was no mistake—she'd been blocked. Otherwise, it wouldn't have given that message.

"That bastard. Does he think I can't take care of Hilary without him?"

"Go find it! Search everywhere! I refuse to believe he hid the allergy medicine in the sky."

Marjorie rushed to the adjoining room and began tearing through drawers and cabinets.

Nothing.

Hilary's condition was getting worse by the minute. Left with no choice, Hildegarde had Marjorie carry the child to the car and drove through the night to Children's Hospital.

After a round of emergency treatment, Hilary's allergic reaction was finally under control.

The little girl lay on the hospital bed, her small body looking pitiful.

"Mommy, can you not tell Uncle Patrick I had an allergic reaction? Otherwise he won't buy me chocolate anymore." She paused, thinking. "Actually, it's Daddy's fault. He never lets me eat chocolate. If I'd eaten more of it, I wouldn't be allergic."

Hildegarde slumped against the headboard, exhaustion carved into her face.

Hearing her daughter mention "Daddy" brought Wilfred back to mind.

Her chest felt like it was stuffed with a stone.

"Wilfred, you bastard. You blocked my phone. Your daughter had an allergic reaction, and you didn't even care. Fine. You've got nerve!"

"Go ahead—don't ever come back!"

By the time Hilary's IV finished, it was already one in the morning.

Hildegarde drove her daughter home, too exhausted to even shower. She collapsed onto the bed and sank into a dead sleep.

At six a.m., she was jolted awake by her daughter's crying.

Normally, Hildegarde slept until eight-thirty sharp. When she woke, her toothpaste and warm water would already be laid out—Wilfred always prepared them.

But today, she was dragged from sleep at six.

Her head felt like it was about to split open.

"Marjorie, what's going on?"

The housekeeper hurried in. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. The little miss woke up and started fussing. I've tried everything."

Hildegarde clawed at her tangled hair like a woman possessed. Gone was any trace of the poised, commanding CEO. Her voice came out in a near-shout: "Make her stop!"

"She's just a child! You can't even manage that? What exactly am I paying you for?"

Marjorie felt wronged. The two girls had always been Wilfred's responsibility. Since coming to this household, she'd never once been asked to handle childcare.

Of course she didn't know how.

But seeing her employer on the verge of losing it, Marjorie swallowed her words. She scooped up Hilary and hurried downstairs.

Hildegarde had mild insomnia. Once woken, she couldn't fall back asleep.

She gave up and went downstairs.

"Marjorie, make me breakfast. I want an egg and ham sandwich. The ham has to be imported from New Zealand, and the egg fried medium."

"Me too, me too! I want a bacon cheese egg burger!" Hilary chimed in with her own order.

Marjorie froze.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

All of Hildegarde and the girls' meals had always been Wilfred's domain. Marjorie had never so much as touched the kitchen.

She had no idea how to make what they'd ordered. She'd never even heard of half of it.

"Um, ma'am, miss... just give me a moment. I'll call Mr. Dickerson and ask how it's done." Marjorie's face burned with embarrassment.

Hildegarde's brow furrowed.

In that moment, she realized that without Wilfred, this entire household had fallen apart.

She couldn't sleep. Now she couldn't even eat breakfast.

But she would never admit he mattered.

"Wilfred, if you've got the nerve, don't ever come back. You want a divorce? Fine. Let's divorce."

"When you can't make it out there and come crawling back begging me to remarry you, I'll make you kneel at my feet and sing 'I Surrender' for twenty-four hours straight!"

Achoo!

Miles away at the Dickerson old house, Wilfred was woken by his internal clock—and immediately sneezed hard.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and couldn't help a bitter smile.

Five years in the Pruitt household. Every day, he'd woken at this hour to take care of the children, to take care of Hildegarde. Now it was second nature.

Even without setting an alarm, his body woke him right on schedule.

His phone rang.

He picked it up and checked the screen.

Marjorie.

After a moment's hesitation, he answered.

"Hello, Marjorie—"

"Mr. Dickerson! Ma'am and the little miss are up, and they want some kind of egg and ham sandwich—the ham has to be imported from New Zealand, the egg fried medium—and the little miss wants a bacon cheese egg burger. I don't know how to make any of this!"

Marjorie's voice cracked with panic.

Wilfred had been the man of the Pruitt house, yet he'd always been approachable, never making things difficult for the staff.

"Here's what we'll do," he said. "I'll send you the recipes right now. Just follow the steps. I'll also send you a list of Hilary's dietary needs and things to watch out for."

"Marjorie, I'm leaving Hilary in your care from now on."

"Alright, Mr. Dickerson. But... when are you coming back?"

"I'm not coming back."

"What?!" Marjorie thought she'd misheard.

"Hildegarde and I are getting divorced," Wilfred said. "I won't be involved in Pruitt family matters anymore. Don't call this number again."

He hung up before she could respond.

"Did you reach Wilfred?"

Hildegarde looked up at Marjorie, her expression cold and detached.

Marjorie nodded. "Y-yes, I got through."

"What did that bastard say? When is he crawling back?"

"Mr. Dickerson said... he said he's divorcing you. He's never coming back."

"Pfft—!"

Hildegarde had just lifted her coffee to her lips. She spat it out in a spray, eyes wide as she stared at Marjorie. "That bastard said... he said he's not coming back?"

"Yes, absolutely. That's exactly what Mr. Dickerson said. Ma'am, did you two have a fight?"

Marjorie had been off yesterday for the girls' birthday party. She had no idea what had happened between them.

"Mind your own business!"

Hildegarde shot her a glare.

Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup until her knuckles went white.

"Not coming back? Hmph. I hope you mean it!"

"Without me, Wilfred, do you really think you can survive?"

When they were together, Wilfred had cupped her face in his hands more than once and told her she was the love of his life, that she was his everything.

And now he wanted to leave her?

Could he really let go?