When Love Ends, So Does Mercy

I didn't spare them another glance and limped toward the stairs. But just as I reached the top, I paused.

"Oh, and one more thing," I said without turning around. "Didn't you both say it yourselves last night? I'm not Elise's father. So there's no point in discussing what kind of father I'm supposed to be."

I stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, but the silence barely lasted a second.

Elise burst in, her voice shrill with fury. "Do you really think throwing a tantrum will scare us? That Mom and I will suddenly stop Dad from coming back because of you?!"

She stormed to the wardrobe and began yanking out my clothes, throwing them to the floor with wild abandon.

"You're dreaming!" she shouted.

Her face flushed with rage, eyes brimming with tears of anger rather than sorrow. She didn't stop there. After scattering my clothes, she dashed into the bathroom and returned holding an eyebrow razor. Without hesitation, she slashed at my shirts—blade after blade, muttering curses between clenched teeth.

"You think just because you raised me, I owe you something? You eat our food, wear our clothes and still dare show attitude?!"

She raised her voice further, the words seething through gritted teeth. "You think you're so great, right? Then don't wear what Mom bought you. Don't eat the food from this house. Just get out. Get out!"

Her little body trembled from the force of her rage, her hands cutting wildly as if trying to erase every trace of me.

I stood still, watching her without saying a word. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, but I made no move to stop her.

Gradually, her furious face began to blur in my vision, overlapping with the soft, helpless face of a baby from ten years ago.

The first time I walked into this house, she had been wailing in the nanny's arms. I rushed over instinctively and scooped her up. She had gone quiet the moment she touched my chest. Her tiny head leaned into me like I was her whole world.

Sara had stood beside me that day, letting out a quiet sigh.

"You're Francis' brother and Elise is your niece by blood. Looks like she really trusts you."

That moment had melted something in me. From then on, I became her father—for ten whole years.

When she had a fever, I sat by her bed all night, clutching her hand and adjusting the cold compress every hour. When she was picky with food, I cooked meals shaped like flowers and stars, coaxing her to eat just a little more. When she cried after a fight at school, I held her hand and walked to her classmate's house, standing up for her like a real father would.

And each time, I told her, "Dad will always be on your side."

But in the end, all those memories led here—to this moment, where she stood screaming that I'd stolen her father's place, destroying my clothes with a blade in her hand.

Just then, Sara entered the room. Without sparing me a glance, she scooped Elise into her arms, pressing a palm to her back to calm her down.

She looked at me then, her voice bitter. "So all these years... you were just pretending, weren't you?"

Elise didn't wait for her to finish. She raised the eyebrow razor one last time and hurled it straight at me.

It hit my chest and clattered to the floor. It didn't hurt. But the look in her eyes—that raw hatred—cut far deeper than any blade. If she could've killed me in that moment, I have no doubt she would have.

The door slammed behind them.

Silence fell again. I stood there in the middle of the chaos—fabric scraps scattered like broken feathers—staring at the pile as if something vital had been ripped from me.

I didn't know how long I stood there before Emily, the housekeeper, entered, carrying a small laundry basket. She knelt down without a word and began quietly gathering the ruined clothes.

After a moment, she looked up at me. "Sir, Madam and Miss Elise have already eaten. Would you like to come down and have something?"

Her voice was calm, almost gentle. The simple concern in her eyes struck me harder than I expected. It had been so long since anyone in this house had spoken to me with even a shred of kindness.

I hesitated, then gave a small shake of my head. "No need. I'm not hungry."

Emily didn't press. She stood, but paused at the door. Her back to me, she hesitated again before finally speaking.

"Some kids..." Her voice was soft, but there was steel underneath. "Some kids are just born ungrateful. There's no point giving them your heart."