When my Daughter Ch 13

Chapter 13 

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The smell of rice porridge drifted through the small kitchen, steam fogging the window as I stirred slowly. My hands moved mechanically, my mind elsewhere. It had become my routine since everything–wake up early, prepare food for Gwen, try to build a sense of normalcy in a life that no longer felt normal. 

But that morning, something was wrong. 

“Gwen?” I called softly, balancing the tray as I pushed her bedroom door open. She was still curled beneath her blanket, her hair messy, her little face puffy from sleep. “Baby, time 

to eat.” 

She didn’t move. Instead, her muffled voice came from under the covers. “Where’s Daddy?” 

The tray trembled in my hands. I set it down carefully on her desk, willing my voice not to shake. “He’s… not here, love. Come on, you need breakfast.” 

But Gwen only shook her head. “I don’t want food. I want Daddy. I want him to take me to the park.” 

I froze, my throat tightening. Leandro had always been gentle with her, patient in ways I hadn’t been. Even when his work consumed him, he always made time to carry her on his shoulders, to sing her lullabies in that low voice that made her laugh. She adored him. He was her whole world. 

And for months now, that world had been ripped from her. 

And I was the one left to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby, please…” I tried again, brushing the hair from her face. “Daddy’s busy. It’s just you and me for now, okay?” 

Her eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling. “You’re lying.” 

I swallowed hard, guilt flooding me. Because she was right. I was lying. I had told her half–truths, masking the cruelty of what I had discovered. Nadine. The woman who had torn everything apart. The woman I couldn’t bring myself to explain to my daughter–not yet. How could I tell Gwen that her father had chosen someone else? How could I shatter her heart the way mine had been shattered? 

The porridge cooled untouched as Gwen’s frustration boiled over. She kicked at her blankets, screamed into her pillow, and began throwing the small toys on her bed across the room. Dolls, blocks, crayons–all clattering against the walls. 

“Stop it!” I snapped, my patience breaking as her shrieks pierced through me. 

“No! I hate you!” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re bad! You made Daddy leave!” 

The words cut sharper than any knife. She kicked her legs against the mattress, fists pounding at her pillows. “I want Daddy! I want Daddy!” she shrieked over and over, her voice hoarse with rage and despair. Her small hands grabbed the stuffed animals from her 

bed, hurling them across the room with all the strength her tiny body could muster. One of 

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bed, hurling them across the room with all the strength her tiny body could muster. One of them struck the wall and slid to the floor, its button eye popping loose. 

“Gwen, stop–please-” I tried to reach for her, but she recoiled violently, curling into herself, her cries shaking her whole frame. “Don’t touch me! You’re mean! I hate you!” she sobbed, her voice breaking in jagged gasps. 

Her chest heaved, her face red and wet with tears, her cries filling every corner of the room. The tantrum consumed her, and all I could do was sit frozen, each word slicing deeper into 

1. me. 

I had wanted to comfort her, to hold her until the storm passed, but all she saw in me was the enemy–the one who took her father away. 

My hand moved before I could stop it, striking her small arm. The sound of the slap echoed in the room. Gwen gasped, stunned, and then her wails grew louder–piercing, heartbreaking, uncontrollable. 

“Oh God…” My hands shook as I covered my face, tears rushing to my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Her sobs tore me apart. I sank onto the floor, broken, while she turned away from me, burying herself in her pillow. 

“Emerald?” Martin’s voice came suddenly from the doorway. 

I looked up, my eyes red, my chest heaving. He stepped inside slowly, his gaze moving from me to Gwen. “What happened?” 

“She–she wouldn’t stop-” My voice cracked. 

But when he approached the bed, Gwen shrieked and hurled a doll at him. “Go away! You’re the reason Daddy’s gone! I hate you! I hate you both!” 

Martin’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “Let her be for now.” 

“She won’t even look at me,” I whispered, my body trembling. 

“She’s grieving,” he said gently. “Let her cry it out. If you push too hard, she’ll only pull away further.” 

I hesitated, then nodded. Together, we stepped out of the room, closing the door behind us. Gwen’s sobs still seeped through the walls, stabbing me with every sound. 

I slumped against the hallway wall, covering my face with my hands as the tears fell freely. “I can’t do this, Martin. What if she never forgives me? What if she never adjusts?” 

Martin crouched down beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. His presence was steady, grounding, even as I crumbled. 

“Emerald, she misses him. She’s just a child trying to make sense of something she doesn’t understand. You can’t blame her for the anger–she doesn’t know where else to put 

it.” 

“But what if–what if she never stops?” My voice was raw. “What if I can’t fix this for her? 

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What if I can’t give her what she needs?” 

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Martin’s eyes softened. “Then you have to tell her the truth. Stop hiding the hurt. Gwen deserves to know why her world feels broken, even if the truth cuts deep.” 

” 

I shook my head violently. “I can’t… She’s too young. She won’t understand-‘ 

“She’s not too young to feel abandoned,” he interrupted quietly. “And you can’t protect her from that by lying. The truth might hurt, but at least it will help her heal.” 

His words pierced through me. Because deep down, I knew he was right. Gwen was drowning in questions, and my silence was only letting her imagination turn me into the villain. 

Martin’s voice grew heavier, more serious. “And Emerald… there’s something else you should know.” 

I lifted my head, confused. “What do 

you mean?” 

His eyes darkened. “I already know who kidnapped Gwen. Who planned everything.” 

My heart stuttered. “What? Who?” 

I braced myself for the name that had haunted me. “Leandro? Was it him?” 

Martin shook his head. Slowly, deliberately. 

“No. It was your stepsister… Nadine.” 

The air left my lungs. I stared at him, disbelief flooding every vein. Nadine. The name itself 

tasted like venom. 

My hands trembled as I whispered, “No… no, that can’t be. She wouldn’t–of course she would…” 

But the look in Martin’s eyes told me otherwise. 

And in that moment, the pieces shifted, the puzzle I had been trying to hold together breaking apart once more. 

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The office felt like a tomb.