When Megan’s voice sounded again, there was a touch of awkward praise in her tone.

"Ugh, you have a good taste. I'm going to wear this match to the branding event tonight."

After a brief pause, she added, "Send me your address. I'll send you the custom-made suit that I ordered for the anniversary."

I refused her offer, "That won't be necessary. I don't have the same taste as Charlie Smith."

Charlie was Megan's "perfect" first love.

The man had become part of his life ever since he returned from abroad because he immediately became Megan's personal assistant. He would manage every single thing in her life, like deciding her schedules, or what kinds of presents she would give to others. So, in a way, every aspect of her daily routine was dictated by him.

As soon as I said Charlie's name, Megan mocked me with a sneer in her tone, "Who do you think you are? How dare you to compare yourself with Charlie!"

I let out a quiet laugh. "Yes, you’re right. I don’t measure up to him. That’s exactly why I’m telling you not to waste anything good on me."

I did not hear any response from her. Clearly, she was dumbfounded hearing my response.

I looked at the clock on the wall, then spoke again, "Please tell Charlie to schedule a day at civil family agency to process our divorce. Just text me the date. You don't need to call me."

When I was about to hang up, Megan suddenly spoke again, "Wait! My daughter is beside me. She wants to say something to you."

However, before Selena could say anything to me, I hung up the phone just as quickly and decisively as she had blocked me that day.

I put my cell phone down and sat down beside my grandfather to accompany him watching the Opera that he loved so much.

A week flew by in the blink of an eye.

While I was waiting for someone in the hotel lobby, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. Turned out, that it was a call from the dean of Selena's school.

He informed me that Selena had pulled a classmate’s hair after an argument broke out. The reason for the fight was that the other girl had repeated a rumor in front of the entire class and then asked Selena why her parents were getting divorced.

I paused for a moment and said calmly, "That’s not a rumor. Her mother and I are, in fact, divorced. I don’t have custody of the child, so you’ll need to contact her mother to resolve this issue."

After a brief, awkward silence, the dean explained that Selena had only provided my number.

So, I asked the dean to put the phone on speaker mode.

In front of the injured student and her parents, I spoke directly to Selena. "You were wrong to hit someone and when you’re wrong, you need to admit it. Isn’t that the principle you and your mother have always believed in?"

I continued, "Also, from now on, whether it’s you or your mother, don’t call me again. Selena, you need to understand that your mother, you and I … we no longer have any connection."

With that, I hung up, set my phone to Do Not Disturb and waved with a smile to my old friend David Cooper and his son, who had been waiting behind me.

When Megan was pregnant with Selena, she always told me she hoped for a son, because a son would protect her alongside me. However, I’d always fantasized about having a daughter.

Heaven had granted my wish, sending Selena into my life. I’d cherished her, doing everything I could to raise her with love and care.

Before she turned six, Selena would mourn the cartoon animals that died in her favorite shows and plant tiny trees in the backyard in their memory. After preschool, she’d run into my arms, while giggling and ask, "Dad, isn’t the little duck I drew cute?"

However then, as Megan started taking her more and more to her family mansion, something changed. By the time she was eight, she no longer asked for hugs or smiled at me the way she used to.

She began looking down on the red-brick farmhouse where my grandfather lived and said it couldn’t compare to the fancy city apartments. With disdain in her voice, she once told me, "You grew up in a place like this? No wonder Grandma never respected you."

David’s son’s hearty laughter snapped me out of my thoughts.

Seeing I had come back to reality, David clapped me on the shoulder and asked if I could help him with something.

He was my friend for so many years, so of course I didn’t even wait for him to explain before smiling and agreeing to help.

A month later, on a Friday, I ran into Megan at the school’s track field.

She was holding onto Charlie’s arm, her cold eyes sweeping up and down as she assessed me.

Charlie was the one who greeted me first, "George! Long time no sees. I didn't know you'd be here. Elle didn't tell me you're coming."

Selena was the captain of the school’s sprint team, so I was sure that a competition was going on that day.

However, I did not come here to cheer for Selena.

I ignored Charlie's question and headed straight to the spectator stand. Realizing this, Megan let Charlie's hand go and quickly chased after me with big steps.

Her voice was thick with sarcasm and ridicule, "George, didn’t you say you were cutting ties with your daughter? What are you doing here? Do you want to embarrass yourself?”

I did not have any desire to argue with her. "Megan, please don't stand next to me. I don't want someone to misunderstand our relationship."

"Misunderstand? What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, I didn't want anyone to think that we're still married," I answered calmly.

For a while, Megan stood there dumbfounded. However, before long, her beautiful face was laced with anger. 

"George! I advise you not to run your mouth!" she growled.

I really did not understand what she meant by that, but honestly, I did not care anymore. At this moment, all my attention was on Mike Cooper. He was waving excitedly at me from the track.

In this sprint competition, boys and girls’ students would compete with each other and at that time Selena stood five meters away from Mike. I was sure she saw me and thought I was waving at her because immediately a look of disgust and resentment crossed her lovely face.

When the starting gun fired, the boys and girl started to sprint.

Unexpectedly, Mike was so fast. While Selena, who was usually the top contender, stumbled and fell halfway through the race.

As soon as the race ended, both Megan and I instinctively rushed toward the track. She was a few steps ahead of me and reached Selena first. She anxiously asked the school nurse about her daughter’s injuries.

Just as the nurse was about to respond, Megan held up her hand to signal him to wait for a moment. She turned to me, irritation written all over her face, as I just stood nearby, busily texting on my phone.

"George, what are you waiting for? Can't you see your daughter is hurt?"

Megan's sharp rebuke drew the attention of the people around us.

I lowered my phone and looked expressionlessly at Selena.

Her knees were scraped and swollen, covered in blood. Her left ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle. So, she was truly injured.

Selena was in so much pain that instinctively, she reached out to me. Her lips were quivering and her eyes were pleading for help.

However, what did any of this have to do with me?

Just last year, Selena had written in her school essay that she no longer needed a useless father who did nothing but cook and clean, a boring father who could not even play a saxophone.

In front of everyone's eyes and her disbelieving eyes, I ignored her plead and walked past her. With a big smile plastered on my face, I made my way to Mike and fisted-bump him cheerfully.

"Micky, my man!  Congrats on winning the silver medal! Your dad’s waiting by the school gate to take us for that seafood feast you’ve been craving."

With Mike on my side, I walked out of the school, happily and calmly. As soon as I got into the car, my phone rang, it was from Megan.

Initially, I did not want to answer. However, when I saw the message that she sent "We need to talk about our divorce", I decided to call her back.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I told David to take his son inside first and promised to join them as soon as possible.

For the first time in months, I called Megan back.

The phone barely rang before her voice came through. She sounded agitated and upset. “George, where are you right now?”

I answered coldly, "You don't need to know where I am right now. All I want to know is when will you be free to go to the civil affair agency to finalize our divorce."

There was a brief pause and when she spoke again, her tone had softened. There was almost a pleading in it. “Can you come to the hospital first? Selena’s injury is serious. I fear she might not be able to compete again. The doctors need to talk to us.”

“Oh? Well, if she can’t compete, then she can’t compete. It’s not that big of a deal that you need to inform me," I said calmly.

Her disbelief was palpable. “George, how can you say something like that? Are you even her father anymore?”

I rested my head against the soft cushion of the car’s back seat, my voice calm and steady. “Megan, you were not the one who brought Selena into your bedroom and made her tell me to my face that she didn’t want to live with me after the divorce.”

I continued, “So why are you acting like I’m the one who abandoned her? Don’t you think it’s absurd? Are the two of you trying to play the victim now?”

There was a long silence on the other end. So long that I thought she had hung up on me, purposely trying to leave me hanging.

Yet, it turned out, the conversation had not over.