Kyle hasn’t contacted in weeks, but now he wants to pay me a visit on Father’s Day. I acquiesce, understanding that he wants likes rather than love. What doesn’t he know?
Our daughter naively created a card that may have revealed the truth — and I’m letting it happen. Since our divorce was finalized, Kyle has created what I can only characterize as a digital monument to his parenthood. His Instagram is a carefully kept museum of past birthday cakes, old selfies with Emma, and remarks so lovely they make your teeth ache.
“Forever proud to be your dad,” he wrote last week above a photo of Emma on her sixth birthday. She’s nine now. But here’s the thing: social media against reality.
While Kyle is busy collecting likes and heart-eye emojis from strangers who believe he is Father of the Year, he has ignored his actual obligations. He hasn’t provided child support in half a year, and his canceled visits stack up like unopened mail.
It has been about a month since he last texted Emma.
Then, like clockwork, just days before Father’s Day, a message from Kyle popped up on my phone.
“Thinking of stopping by Sunday to see Emma for Father’s Day.”
I stared at the text for a whole minute. What a bold move! Six months of radio silence, then swooping in like a festive hero?
I resisted the impulse to toss my phone across the room. Instead, I responded, “Sure.” “Come by at 3.”
I knew I needed to prepare Emma. So that night, I sat next her as she worked on a puzzle and softly stated, “Sweetheart, your dad might be coming over for Father’s Day.”
“Really?” she inquired, cautiously hopeful, although her voice broke around the word.
I nodded and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “He texted.” He said he wanted to see you. She stood up and searched her backpack.
She grabbed a slightly crumpled sheet of cardstock from one of the side pockets, half covered in crayon hearts and the other blank. “We started making cards in school. “My teacher said we had to,” she explained quietly.
Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I wasn’t sure how to finish it. I’m not even sure whether I have a father anymore.
My heart broke right there.
I knelt in front of her and took her into my arms. “Oh, Baby. You’re not required to create a card if you don’t want to.”
She drew back and scrutinized my face, as if she were thinking hard.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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