Sad to Say Goodbye

Eight years ago, a night of drunken recklessness left me carrying Grayson Ulrich's child.

But from that moment on, he began to hate both me and our daughter.

He never allowed her to call him "Dad." He wouldn't let me step into his study, either.

Because inside that study, every inch of space was filled with traces of another woman—Sandra Wright, the ex-fiancée who had once left him for freedom and happiness, who had gone abroad to marry a rich man.

She was the one Grayson could never forget. The one he still loved.

On our eighth anniversary, Sandra returned.

That night, Grayson got drunk for the first time in years. He held our daughter in his arms and wept until his eyes were red.

My daughter looked at me, bewildered. "Mom, why is Uncle crying?"

I held back my tears and told her softly, "Because he is very happy. The person he loves has finally come back."

Then I said, "So, Mommy's taking you away—so we won't disturb him and the woman he loves, okay?"

I helped the drunken Grayson Ulrich to his room, then turned back to soothe our crying daughter.

Alicia's little face, red from tears, burrowed into my arms as she asked reluctantly, "Mom, do we really have to leave?"

She lifted her head, hope flickering in her eyes.

"Today, Uncle was so gentle. He didn't scold me, didn't push me away. He even gave me a warm hug… Mom, does that mean… maybe he likes me a little?"

My heart lurched, a sudden, sharp pain.

On our wedding day, Grayson had looked at me with that cold, unyielding gaze and said, "Marrying you is my reluctant duty. Don't expect any attention from me. You, and the child in your womb, are not what I wanted."

After our daughter, Alicia Ulrich, was born, he didn't so much as glance at her. He spent every day locked away in his study. He never let her call him Dad.

When she was just learning to speak at one, she had thrown her tiny arms around him and said, "Daddy."

He had thrown her onto the sofa, scowled, and left the house.

She had screamed in terror, and I spent the entire night coaxing her to sleep.

For six months after that, she refused to speak a single word.

At five, she had drawn a picture titled My Dad and entered it in a children's art contest—and won first place.

At Grayson's birthday party, she had handed him her drawing and the trophy with trembling little hands.

His gaze lingered on the wobbly, childlike letters spelling "Dad". Then, with cold indifference, he had turned and walked away. He left her alone, facing the stares and whispers of the guests.

Other children laughed at her openly.

"You don't even have a dad. This drawing is fake. You tricked our teacher. That trophy isn't really yours!"

A five-year-old couldn't withstand such ridicule. By the end of the night, she was bedridden with a high fever for an entire week.

After that, she had learned to call him "Uncle."

The little girl who had once searched his face for a father's love was gone, buried beneath disappointment after disappointment.

I blinked back tears, holding her close.

"Alicia, your uncle is happy because the person he loves is finally back. We have to make room for them—we can't get in his way."

Her smile slowly faded, the light in her eyes dimming.

Then, as if she had just realized something, she anxiously showed me the little scarf around her neck.

"Mom, Uncle gave me a gift today. If he didn't like me, why would he give me a gift?"

She pressed her cheek to the scarf, treasuring it. This was the first gift her father had ever given her.

Was this proof that she was loved by him too?

I stared at the scarf, a store-issued giveaway clearly meant to accompany some other purchase, and words caught in my throat.

How could I tell her the truth? That it wasn't for her at all—that her father had bought a handbag for someone else, and this was just a minor gift from the store?

Seeing her hopeful expression, I couldn't crush it. I held her tight, wiping my tears where she couldn't see, and forced a smile.

"Alicia, you love to draw, right? How about coming with Mom to study art in Furlance? The resources there are much better."

Her face twisted with conflict, and she whispered, "Bitaly is the best place to study art. I… I don't want to go to Furlance."

My chest ached so sharply I could barely breathe. I bit my lip, choking back sobs.

"Alicia… your uncle doesn't want us to stay here. Let's leave, okay?"

She pulled away from me, clutching the scarf tightly in her hands. After a long silence, she said,

"Can I give him one last chance? If he really doesn't like me, then we'll leave him forever."

Before I could answer, her voice dropped, full of sorrow. "I've grown up… and I've never called him 'Dad' out loud…"

Tears ran down my face, unstoppable. Finally, I nodded. "All right."