I spent a year fighting my tyrant ex for our daughter, only to watch his new wife try to steal her from me with lies, gifts, and one perfect seaside dream.
I came home late that evening, once again smelling like someone else’s soup and pills. Old Mrs. Rayner, the woman I was caring for, had treated me to a piece of pie that day.
My daughter Mia and I lived in my father’s apartment — the only thing my ex-husband Jack couldn’t take when he filed for divorce.
Back then, he’d wanted to take Mia too, and I’d fought for a year in court.
The lawyers ate up every penny I had, but I didn’t break.
Since then, though, life felt like an endless run with a bag of stones on my shoulders.
I quietly opened the door to Mia’s room — empty. A weekend with her father. I always sat on needles until she was back.
Then, finally, the click of the lock.
Mia came in first. I knelt to hug her.
“So, how was it with Dad?”
“It was fun!
We had waffles and a movie!”
I smiled. Then she, as if it was nothing, added again:
I sat right down on the hallway floor because my legs just gave out.
Mia shrugged, like she was talking about a new kitten or toy.
“Kira. She’s nice.
She got me a car — the one I really wanted!”
A car… God! I was counting every cent, to take Mia to the sea and maybe buy that car for her birthday.
And then, some Kira just handed it to my daughter on a silver platter.
I glanced at the doorway. Jack was standing there, leaning his hands against the wall, like he always did when he wanted to look in control.
He put on that mock-polite smile. “Of course. Go to your room, Mia.
Play with your car.”
Mia disappeared without even looking back.
“Lora, come on. Don’t make this bigger than it is.
She’s a kid. To her, they’re just words. Kira cares for her like her own.”
“I work nights, run around all day, so she has everything she needs!
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