Chapter 3

She lifted her tiny face and asked, confused, "Daddy, I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget?"

Joaquin froze, then awkwardly moved the cake to remove the fruit topping. Watching his frantic movements, I felt disgusted. Just hours earlier, Nyla's picture showed this same cake. She'd even written a self-deprecating comment: "Cakes make people gain weight, but there are people who will eat them for me. It's a happy worry."

My gaze fell on the gift box on the table. I opened it; a strong, cloying perfume filled the air—Nyla's scent. She'd been flaunting it. I could almost see her satisfied smile as she removed the necklace. A legally married wife picking up the discarded belongings of her husband's mistress. It was pitiful.

I casually tossed the necklace onto the table and turned to Lia, asking seriously, "Baby, what did the teacher say? What shouldn't we eat late at night?"

Lia responded enthusiastically, "Desserts!"

I scratched her nose. "Lia, you're great! How about we don't eat any desserts today?" Though slightly disappointed, she obediently nodded. I held her close, suppressing tears, as we walked away. My daughter wouldn't accept hand-me-downs. The second-hand cake and necklace remained on the table. Joaquin stood still, lost. He believed my daughter and I should gratefully accept such gifts, praising him generously to satisfy his vanity. Perhaps I used to be that way, but not anymore.

The next morning, while my daughter and I ate breakfast, Joaquin woke up. After washing, he came to the dining table, confused. "Where are my hand-ground coffee and sandwich?"

I didn't even lift my eyelids. "I didn't make them."

Surprised, he asked, "You didn't?"

Sensing his tone, Lia immediately retorted, "Why does Mom have to make them? Mom works too, Dad can do it himself."

I was surprised; I'd never taught her to say that. Joaquin's face darkened; his meaningful gaze suggested he suspected me of coaching her. Married for seven years, I'd served him like a servant, yet a minor mistake would bring his scorn and accusations—the coffee was wrong, the food too salty. Was I even considered a woman if I couldn't cook properly? In his eyes, I was merely a cheap servant. Unusually, he remained silent this time. I quietly made myself breakfast.

Later, as Lia ate, she suddenly said, "Dad, the school's organizing a parent-child activity this afternoon. Will you go with us?"

Joaquin was surprised. He desperately needed to repair their relationship. He nodded eagerly. "Of course! I want to be the best dad."

Lia smiled sweetly. I touched her head, sighing inwardly. I only hoped he wouldn't disappoint her. That wish, ultimately, remained unfulfilled.

Chapter 4