Chapter 7
Five years flew by.
Arthur never visited his daughter, even though it was just a half–hour drive.
My daughter once asked me where her dad was.
I told her he went far away to work and support the family.
She asked how she could see him.
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I paused for a moment and slowly said, “If you draw a thousand pictures for him, he’ll come.”
She loved drawing, but it took her a whole day to finish one.
I expected her to give up, daunted by the huge number.
But she clenched her fists, her eyes shining brightly.
She drew many pictures of the three of us together.
In every picture, her dad was an invincible hero, the best father.
She drew whenever she had time, even when her hands bled.
A year later, she held my hand and pointed to the wall covered in drawings.
Chapter 7
“Mom, here are the thousand pictures. When will dad come
back?”
Looking into her hopeful eyes, my heart ached.
How could I tell her the truth?
Her dad didn’t want to see her.
That night, I hesitated whether to call Arthur.
But Arthur called first.
We were silent for a moment.
He said he wanted to see his daughter.
I agreed.
We set the meeting for a month later.
He demanded to see her within a week.
He sounded impatient, almost desperate.
I was surprised but didn’t think much of it.
I told my daughter the news.
To save money for a gift for her dad, she gave up her favorite doll.
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Chapter 7
The night before the meeting, she was too excited to sleep.
I gently patted her head.
“Sweetheart, do you really want a dad?”
She nodded seriously, her tone earnest.
“With a dad around, Mom won’t cry at night anymore.”
I was stunned, my nose tingling, almost in tears.
For five years, I’ve raised her alone.
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I can’t afford to get sick; I’m scared no one will take care of her if I fall.
I want to let go of the past and forgive myself.
But I can’t; I can’t stop hating him.
hate him for making our daughter miss out on having both parents. She can only watch enviously as other kids get lifted. onto their dads” shoulders.
I hate him for leaving me to face everything alone.
In front of others, I act optimistic and strong.
But deep down, I know I’ve been consumed by my emotions.
Chapter 7
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Late at night, I want to scream, but I end up silently crying and wiping away the tears.
I hugged my daughter tightly, holding back my tears.
She wrapped her little arms around my head and, in the same soothing tone I use with her, said, “Mom, you’re tired.”
“Just sleep in my arms, and you’ll feel better.”
At that moment, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer; they flowed freely.
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When I Was Pregnant, My Boyf
