The Scattering of Love

I collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face, my heart filled with regret.

If I had known earlier that life after marrying him would be so full of pain and wounds, I would never have compromised that night, even if it cost me my life.

I sat numbly in front of the computer, staring at the freshly typed divorce agreement on the screen—they stung my eyes.

I gave a bitter smile as I looked at them.

If it weren’t for Melanie, with my stubborn nature, I would have already thrown that paper in his face and walked away without a second thought.

But whenever I thought of Melanie’s little face which was full of grievance, I couldn’t bear to do such a thing.

I always wanted to try a little harder, unwilling to let her grow up without a father at such a young age.

Melanie had woken up early.

Upon hearing her dad had come home, the little one was as excited as ever, jumping up and down on her small bed.

“I want to show Dad the drawing I just finished!”

That was just how children were—innocent and kind.

The pain she suffered at nursery yesterday had been forgotten after one night’s sleep.

She had already forgiven Mike.

Melanie ran downstairs with joy in her heart.

But the sight before her stopped her dead in her tracks.

There stood Jennifer and Oliver in the living room, and Mike was sitting on the sofa, gently peeling an orange for Oliver with a face full of tenderness.

Melanie blinked and asked timidly, “Daddy, who are they?”

Upon hearing her voice, Mike’s brows furrowed in annoyance.

His tone held unmistakable disgust.

“Why are you still at home? Where’s your mom?”

Startled by the sudden scolding, Melanie flinched.

Her eyes instantly reddened, but even so, she carefully held out the family portrait she had spent an entire week drawing.

With a trembling voice, she said, “This is the family picture I drew. I wanted to give it to you when you arrive back at home…”

Before she could finish her sentence, just as the picture—filled with her love and anticipation—was about to reach Mike’s hands, a small hand snatched it away rudely.

“What kind of garbage is this? You call this a drawing?”

Oliver’s little face flushed red with anger.

He stomped his foot and, with a sharp tug, tore Melanie’s drawing in half with a loud rip.

His arrogant, domineering attitude was on full display.

With his hands on his hips and his chin raised, hi shoved my daughter hard and shouted, “Hmph! This is my dad! All the kids at school say you’re just some stray without a dad—who said you could call him Daddy?”

Melanie’s frail little body swayed a few times before she fell to the floor with a loud thump, and then burst into loud sobs.

Tears immediately welled up in my eyes.

Panicking, I rushed forward and scooped Melanie into my arms, holding her tightly.

Then, glaring coldly at Oliver, I said between gnashed teeth, “Apologize.”

Mike saw the scene and immediately frowned.

His face darkened with visible displeasure as he snapped at me, “Shannon, why are you being so harsh to a kid?”

Without hesitation, he strode forward, bent down, and scooped Oliver into his arms, gently patting her back in comfort.

“I told you last night, didn’t I? Oliver is very possessive. He can’t stand other kids calling me Dad. He was just upset and made a mistake—he didn’t mean to push Melanie.”

I stood my ground like a stone rooted deep in the earth.

My gaze remained unwavering and firm as I looked directly at him, without backing down an inch.