My Daughter Chose His Mistress Over Me

I love Noelle Kennedy deeply. After all, she is my child, a part of me that took six months of my life’s energy to bring into this world. For five years, I have poured all my patience and love into her. Meanwhile, Dominic Kennedy, her father, seems to leave her mostly to the nanny, and yet, perplexingly, Noelle adores him.

Noelle is a bit sharper than most kids. When she was three, she said to me, “Mom, you’re pretty useless. Dad doesn’t even want to come home often.” At the time, I brushed it off. Later on, when she was four, after her first encounter with Dominic’s assistant, Melina Perry, she came home and told me, “Mom, no wonder Daddy likes Aunt Melina; I like her too.”

“Aunt Melina is way better than you. She’s gentle, smart, and beautiful.”

Once, when I refused to let her have fast food, she got so upset that she yelled she wanted Aunt Melina to be her mom instead. I swallowed my discomfort, cradled her in my arms, and tried to comfort her, “Noelle, I made you a new sandwich. It tastes just like the ones from outside, and it’s much cleaner.”

But she knocked the sandwich I made to the floor, shouting, “I don’t want your stupid sandwich. I want the one Aunt Melina gets from the food truck. Even if it gives me a stomachache, I still want it. I don’t want you as my mom either; you’re useless!”

I looked at her, bewildered. The daughter I had fought so hard to have, wanting to replace me for a sandwich. There were so many moments like this. Everything Melina gave her was treasured, while everything I offered was dismissed.

I brought this up with Dominic. Initially, he told me not to argue with a child. But over time, he became annoyed and told me to think about why our daughter didn’t appreciate the things I offered.

Even for Noelle’s fifth birthday, her wish was to have Melina as her mom. When I couldn’t connect with my own daughter, what was the point?

The next morning, Dominic and I filed for divorce. After leaving the courthouse, he dropped me off at the entrance and went straight to work. When I returned home to pack, I realized I didn’t have much—nearly everything could fit into a single suitcase. Over the years, most purchases were for Dominic and Noelle.

As I rolled my suitcase out the door, Noelle was sitting on the couch, watching something on her tablet while eating a sandwich. I didn’t bother telling her not to eat it; instead, I simply said, “Noelle Kennedy, I’m leaving.”

It was only then that Noelle looked up and asked, “Where are you going?”

“You don’t need to worry about where I’m going. I won’t be picking you up from preschool anymore, so remember not to go with strangers.”

Noelle gave me a dismissive look, so much like her father’s. “Mom, you’re lying. Dad says no one likes you, and you’re just clingy with him. Romina, stop being so childish, okay? You’re too old for tantrums or threatening Dad by running away. Aunt Melina wouldn’t do anything so immature. If you want to leave, just go. I won’t miss you.”

Then she lowered her head again to the tablet. In the past, I might have gently taken the tablet away and played with blocks, gone swimming, or walked in the park with her. I would have spent lots of time ensuring she felt safe and loved. But now, I don’t care anymore. Whoever wants to take care of her can do so.

“Noelle, just remember what you said.”

With that, I turned and walked away, not sparing a backward glance at the child I had once cradled day and night, tending to her every need and ensuring her peaceful sleep when she was sick.