My daughter has a summer assignment where she needs her parents to accompany her to check in at a museum and record a video.

But throughout the summer, my husband, John Foster, kept making excuses, saying he was too busy with work.

As the school term approached, and I saw my daughter anxiously unable to sleep, I helplessly suggested,

"How about I go with you to check in, sweetheart?"

My daughter, trying to hide her disappointment, nodded obediently.

But when my daughter and I arrived at the museum, we saw John with his first love, holding a little boy's hand, standing in front of a professional camera crew.

"Hello, everyone, I’m Ben’s father..."

My daughter and I froze in place as a staff member approached us.

"Sorry, this afternoon the museum has been booked exclusively for an event. Please come back tomorrow."

I clenched my fists tightly; this morning, he had told me he was leaving for a three-day business trip.

"Mom, isn't Dad really busy with work? How can he be here?"

I looked at my daughter, biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

"Isn't Dad mine? Why is he someone else's dad?"

I didn’t know how to answer my daughter's question. My gut feeling told me John had been cheating.

The staff member, seeing we were motionless, stepped forward to pull us away.

My daughter tripped and scraped her knee on the rough stone pavement, blood oozing out in a large patch.

After days of anxiety and frustration, my daughter couldn’t hold back and started crying.

John caught sight of me through the crowd, his eyes wide with surprise, instinctively walking towards us.

"Do you know them?"

"Dad, I’m so thirsty after filming. Can I have ice cream?"

John looked away from us, gently smiling at the mother and son in front of him.

"I don't know them. They're just strangers!"

"Let’s go, let’s get ice cream!"

He picked up the boy, holding hands with the woman beside him, and walked past us without looking back.

After accompanying him through the lows of his life for eight years, all I received was a dismissive "strangers."

My daughter stared at John’s back, gasping for air as she cried.

"Mom, why did Dad say he doesn't know us?"

"What did I do wrong that made Dad not want me?"

My heart ached deeply, and I carefully avoided her injury, holding her close.

Gradually, my daughter stopped crying, barely eating any dinner, silent and staring out the window.

I closed the door and called my lawyer.

"Please draft a divorce agreement for me."

The sound of the door opening reached me, and John hummed a tune as he walked in.

My daughter forced a smile and ran out to take slippers off the rack for him.

"Dad, you’re back..."

John smiled, looking at his phone, casually replying with a nonchalant "Hmm."

My daughter held up her summer assignment in front of him.

"Dad, can you come with Mom and me to the museum to film the video?"

John didn’t even glance at it, pushing the paper aside, irritated.

"Work’s been a bit busy lately. I’ll come when I have time."

"When will you have time? If you don’t go now, I’ll be going back to school soon."

My usually sensible daughter stubbornly sought an answer.

While we were at a stand-off, the doorbell rang, and John excitedly opened it, bringing in a cake.

He finally put down his phone and waved at my daughter standing beside him.

"I know you were upset today, so I got you a cake. Come try it!"

My daughter instantly cheered up, running to open my door.

"Mom, come out, Dad bought us cake!"

She took the cake from John, biting into it eagerly.

"Dad is the best dad in the world..."

My heart sank, but in the next second, my daughter suddenly gasped, her face flushed, and she collapsed to the ground.

I looked at the cake, furious.

"Don’t you know she’s allergic to nuts?"

"I had no idea! Who told her to eat so quickly like a starving ghost?"

I didn’t have time to argue, quickly grabbing my daughter and rushing to the hospital.

It was late into the night before my daughter was out of danger.

She lay pale, forcing a smile as she patted John’s hand.

"Dad, I’m fine. Don’t worry."

John, perhaps out of guilt, finally agreed to accompany her to the museum the next day to film the video.

His phone rang, and faintly, I could hear a woman’s soft voice.

"John, Ben had a nightmare and can’t sleep. He’s crying and asking for you..."

John’s face changed instantly, and without thinking, he began to leave.

My daughter worriedly grabbed his sleeve, "Dad, you promised to film with me tomorrow."

John patted her head.

"I remember, sweetheart. I have an urgent matter tonight, but I’ll definitely come to the museum tomorrow."

With John’s promise, my daughter stayed up excited, planning the video shoot in her notebook.

"Mom, how about I wear a white dress tomorrow?"

"Mom, Dad’s busy. I’ll arrange fewer lines for him..."

Finally, exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, my daughter and I woke up early.

She was in high spirits, skipping along, proudly telling anyone we met, "Today, I’m going to the museum with Mom and Dad to film a video."

But when we stood at the museum entrance for three hours, waiting, the hope turned to unease and, eventually, to disappointment.

I called John countless times, but he didn’t answer.

My daughter’s health was still fragile, her face pale.

"Mom, can we go find Dad? He promised he’d come."

I couldn’t bear to refuse her, so I took her by taxi to John’s company.

"Mr. Foster isn’t here today, but he asked me to get three tickets for the amusement park today..."

I couldn’t express what I felt inside as I lowered my eyes, seeing my daughter tightly pursing her lips, eyes full of grievance and disappointment.

We reluctantly went to the amusement park, where we happened to see John riding the carousel with the little boy.

The woman beside them smiled widely, taking photos of them like a happy family.

After the ride, John picked up a cake from the ground and walked over to the woman.

"Ben loves nut cakes, and I tasted it myself; it’s delicious."

The cake he held was exactly the same as the one he had given my daughter the night she almost died from eating it.

That cake, which had made my daughter so happy and nearly cost her life, was now for the mother and son in front of me.

Grief and anger overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.

My daughter’s cry rang out as she walked toward John.

The boy ran around, getting chocolate ice cream all over her.

"Watch where you’re going, do you know who I am? I’ll make you regret it!"

The boy yanked at my daughter’s braid, punching her with his fists.

I rushed up and pushed the boy away, my daughter’s carefully styled braid in disarray, her beloved dress dirty, and large cuts on her arms.

The boy, however, screamed loudly,

"Mom and Dad, come quickly! Someone’s bullying me!"

When John saw us, his face darkened.

"Are you following me?"

"Do you know them?"

I smiled bitterly in anger. "John, you promised our daughter you’d film the video today!"

"If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have known that my husband had another family outside..."

The woman’s face turned pale, nearly collapsing. "I didn’t know..."

John Foster stepped in front of the mother and son. "Lena, be quiet!"

Seeing that the bystanders were scattering, Amy Green decided to close her eyes and feign unconsciousness.

John picked Amy up and walked out.

"If anything happens to Amy, I won’t let you get away with it!"

In just two days, my daughter was injured twice, and I blamed myself.

When we reached the hospital, we were told that the entire hospital had been booked by John’s company’s president.

"Mom, did Dad book the whole hospital? Why can't we get treated?"

No matter how much I pleaded, the security guards refused to let us in.

Helpless, I took my daughter home to tend to her injuries. Seeing her devastated, I hesitated but asked,

"Emma, do you want Mommy to take you away from Dad?"

Emma’s eyes were filled with fear as she clung to my neck, sobbing,

"Mom, I don’t want to be without Dad..."

Seeing her so emotional, I couldn’t bear to push her any further.

When she fell asleep, John returned, looking exhausted.

"Amy is fine. She said she won’t hold it against you for your rash behavior today. Don’t do it again."

I picked up a cushion and threw it at him.

"John, you jerk!"

"You ignore our daughter’s injury and blame me for a woman pretending to faint. Are you even human?"

He looked guilty for a moment but quickly grew agitated, scratching his head.

"It’s just a video. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

I turned and went to the bedroom to avoid waking Emma.

The next morning, we heard clanging sounds from the kitchen, and when Emma and I came out, we saw John busy cooking, wearing an apron.

"You’re up? I made breakfast..."

The plates on the table were piled with burnt scrambled eggs.

"Emma, didn’t you say you wanted to film a video? After breakfast, Daddy will take you to the museum."

Emma, who had looked dejected, instantly perked up, taking my hand to sit at the table.

"Mom, did you hear? Daddy’s going to take us to film a video!"

She took a bite of the burnt eggs and kept nodding in praise.

"This is the first time Daddy’s made breakfast for me, and it’s delicious..."

I turned away, my heart aching. The neglected child always tries to please the one they care about.

John accompanied us to the museum. Though Emma’s script had very few lines, he remained distracted, repeatedly interrupting.

"What’s wrong with you guys? Ben finished in one take. Why are you so dumb?"

John muttered under his breath. Despite being upset, Emma smiled and tried to please him.

"One more time, Daddy. Can we try it just one more time?"

She reduced John’s lines to just one sentence, and finally, the filming was done.

Emma felt like she had completed an important task and danced around joyfully.

"Mom, I finally finished my assignment!"

John answered his phone, leaned in, and asked me where the household registry and property deed were.

I was lost in Emma’s happiness and without thinking, told him.

From that day on, John hadn’t returned home, claiming work trips.

Because of John cooperating with the video shoot, Emma had been extremely happy these days, watching the video several times every night before bed.

Soon, it was time for Emma to go back to school. I sent her to the school gate as usual.

Before I could get home, I received a call from Emma’s teacher, and I could hear Emma crying in the background.