Daughter Called Another Man “Dad”,So I Left

For breakfast, Wilfred made his daughter Penelope's favorite—vegetable and egg noodles.

She took after him when it came to taste.

They both loved noodles.

Hildegarde and Hilary, on the other hand, couldn't stand them.

Back when they lived at the Pruitt estate, Hildegarde had forbidden him from cooking noodles. Once, when Penelope had begged for a bowl of his vegetable egg noodles, he'd secretly made one for her. But Hildegarde and her mother Rosemary Dickerson had walked in right as he set it down. The looks on their faces could have curdled milk.

His mother-in-law had ignored Penelope's sobs and dumped the entire bowl straight into the trash.

Then she'd jabbed a finger in his face and called it street-stall garbage, warning him never to make such low-class slop again.

It would drag down the family's standards, she'd said.

"Daddy, can you make me noodles every morning from now on?"

Watching his daughter slurp down her breakfast, Wilfred smiled. "Of course. Whatever you want to eat, I'll make it."

"Then after school, can you take me for fried chicken?"

Penelope's eyes sparkled with longing.

"Sure."

After breakfast, Wilfred drove her to the preschool.

At the gates, he spotted the Land Cruiser the Pruitt family's nanny drove.

It was almost laughable, really. Hildegarde had bought the help a luxury SUV worth a small fortune—just for grocery runs and school pickups—while treating her own husband like an afterthought. He'd never been allowed to touch any of the family cars. In the end, his mother had taken pity on him and bought him a Range Rover so he wouldn't have to rely on rideshares.

Hilary hopped out of the Land Cruiser, backpack bouncing.

She skipped over to Penelope, waving a paper bag.

"Look! Patrick—I mean, my new daddy—made me honey bread! It's got honey and matsutake mushrooms on top. It's sooo good!"

Penelope pouted. "Daddy says kids shouldn't eat too many sweets. You'll get cavities."

Hilary stuck out her tongue. "Hmph! I have a new daddy now. That old daddy can't tell me what to do anymore. I can eat whatever I want! Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh..."

"My new daddy also says I should learn to share with other kids. So I'm gonna give treats to everyone—except you! Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh..."

Penelope clutched her backpack straps, eyes reddening.

"Hilary, if you keep acting like this, Daddy really won't want you anymore."

"So what? I don't want him either! Who needs such a loser dad anyway? Patrick is my real daddy now." Hilary tossed her head and marched into the preschool, smug as could be.

Penelope's jaw tightened. She snatched up a pebble from the roadside, glaring at her sister's retreating back.

But in the end, she set it down.

Daddy had told her—no matter what, Hilary was still her sister. Even if Hilary made her angry, she couldn't hurt her.

From inside the car, Wilfred watched his two daughters.

He sighed quietly.

Hilary's behavior didn't wound him. He felt no grief, no disappointment—only a weary acceptance.

What's gone is gone. Yesterday can't be held.

Pruitt Group headquarters.

Hildegarde had barely stepped into her office when she noticed a lunch box sitting on her desk, decorated with a little heart.

A satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

Of course. Wilfred was just throwing a tantrum. Once he cooled off, he'd come crawling back like he always did.

And here was the proof—a homemade lunch, bright and early.

Same as before. Same as always.

That man couldn't survive without her.

Her phone rang. Patrick's name flashed on the screen.

"Hello? Patrick..."

"Hildegarde, I made you a lunch. Left it on your desk—eat it while it's warm." His voice was honeyed.

"You made this?"

Her expression flickered.

"Mmhm. Got up early and spent the whole morning on it. Even cut my finger with the knife." He chuckled ruefully. "Cooking really isn't a man's job. Honestly, I have to hand it to Wilfred—puttering around the kitchen every day like it's nothing. Must be nice to have such simple pleasures."

Even now, he couldn't resist the dig.

Hildegarde's face remained impassive. "Got it. I'm busy—I'll call you later."

"Alright. Take care of yourself."

She hung up and stared at the lunch box.

Suddenly, she had no desire to open it.

"Terence Baker," she called.

Her secretary appeared at the door. "Yes, Ms. Pruitt?"

"Has my husband come by today?"

"No, ma'am. Mr. Dickerson hasn't been to the office."

A flush of irritation crept up her cheeks.

"I see. Take this lunch and eat it yourself. If my husband does show up, tell him I've already eaten—and he can take his container back with him."

Terence collected the box and left.

"Let's see how long you can keep this up."

Hildegarde snorted and turned to her work—though her mind refused to settle.

By late morning, her stomach was growling. She summoned Terence again. "Has my husband come by?"

"No, ma'am. And that lunch box is still here, if you'd like it. I can heat it up."

"Throw it out."

She waved him away in annoyance.

Once he was gone, she snatched up her phone and dialed Wilfred's number.

The number you have dialed is not in service...

"Bastard! You're still blocking my calls?!"

Her patience finally snapped.

Blocking her number. Not even bothering to bring her lunch. What the hell was he playing at?

Did he actually mean to go through with the divorce?

The thought sent an unexpected flutter of panic through her chest.

She grabbed the office landline and tried again.

This time, it connected.

"Wilfred, just so you know, I've already eaten. Patrick made me the most wonderful lunch, so today you don't need to—"

His voice cut through, flat and cold. "Hildegarde. I'm at the Family Court. Get over here. Let's finish this."

She froze.

Was he serious?

He was actually at Family Court, waiting to finalize their divorce?

Where did he get the nerve?

Did he really think he could survive out there without her?

"Wilfred, enough. You think threatening me with divorce is going to work? Without me, you're nothing. Without me, your whole family goes down with you."

"Don't forget—without me, the Dickersons are nobody."