Maya slapped my hand away without a hint of patience.

"You messed everything up, and I still covered for you. And now you think you’re the one in the right?"

Hannah followed her lead, shoving me with a frown.

"Exactly! Dad, you totally embarrassed me today! You already made it so Mom can’t give birth to a younger brother, now you won’t even let her give me a godbrother?"

Right after saying that, she beamed and pulled out two carefully wrapped gifts, handing them to the father and son.

Then, with practiced grace, she brought over the prepared tea set and began the ceremony.

"Godfather, little brother, drink this tea. From today on, we’re one family."

Alexander teared up, but even in that moment, he didn’t forget to shoot me a smug glance.

Just then, a few late-arriving relatives, clueless to the chaos, tugged at my arm and whispered with excitement, "Dylan, come on, tell your auntie what big surprise your wife and Ivy prepared for you? We’re all dying to see it!"

I stared at the heartwarming scene in front of me, the smiles, the gifts, the tea still steaming in their hands.

So this was the grand gift they had prepared for me.

For this family, I had worked myself to the bone, juggling a full day’s job, then rushing home to cook, do the laundry, and help with homework.

Year after year, I stood by Hannah’s side, helping her rise to become one of the top students who earned her way into Tufts University.

And now, with just a few careless words, mother and daughter handed all my years of effort to another man, like it meant nothing.

The relatives, oblivious to the shift in my expression, clapped and cheered to lighten the mood, calling for me to say a few words on stage.

Maya, in the middle of fixing Alexander’s tie, paused and turned to look at me. Her gaze was cold and unfeeling.

And when our eyes met, I understood everything.

If I didn’t delete that post, she wouldn’t let me have even a moment of peace tonight.

So, just as she wanted, I got up and walked out of the banquet hall.

A few relatives, now reading my divorce post on their phones, rushed after me, calling out in disbelief.

"Dylan, come on! It’s a celebration! What’s this nonsense about divorce?"

"Just because your wife gave Ivy a godfather?"

"Looks like they’re just making space for their perfect little family of four."

Leaving those words behind, I walked out without looking back.

Seeing me humiliated in front of everyone, Hannah, hot-blooded in her youth, grabbed the microphone and shouted, "Dylan Clark! I only took a godfather and a godbrother! Do you have to make such a scene? If you walk out of this hall, don’t blame me for not calling you Dad anymore!"

The daughter I had poured my soul into raising had just called me by my full name and threatened to cut me off.

It felt like something had been ripped straight out of my chest, deep, raw, and bleeding.

I swallowed the sting behind my eyes and answered loudly, "Fine. Then I’ll act like I never had a daughter."

Ignoring the cries behind me, I turned and walked away, quickening my pace.

On the way home, my phone buzzed with a push notification, a livestream from the top scorer’s school banquet.

My chest tightened. I tapped into it without thinking.

And there he was, Alexander, beaming in front of the camera, calling himself my daughter’s father, warmly greeting guests, and even sharing parenting advice with the reporters who had just arrived.

Alexander smiled warmly at the camera, his hand resting naturally on Hannah’s shoulder.

Hannah stood beside him, wearing a tender smile I had never seen her give me, not even once.

She even leaned in slightly, making it easier for him to drape his arm around her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Off to the side, Maya watched them quietly, her face soft with warmth and affection.

That gaze used to be mine.

But ever since Alexander and his son returned to the country, I could hardly remember the last time she looked at me like that.

"Dad, look at the camera!"

Hannah reminded him with a cheerful smile.

That word, “Dad”, slipped from her lips so effortlessly, like she’d said it a thousand times before.

The livestream chat instantly lit up.

[What a picture-perfect family! You can feel the love through the screen!]

[Quick, group photo please! I need a screenshot for my lock screen—this family is my new emotional support.]

Maya and Hannah stood protectively beside Alexander and his son, the four of them forming heart shapes with their hands for the camera.

They stood close, smiling brightly, a picture-perfect image of a warm, loving family.

Suddenly, a reporter pushed to the front, microphone raised.

“We’d like to invite Mr. Hill to appear on our TV station’s special program featuring top-scoring families. Would you be willing to share your parenting experience?”

Alexander glanced modestly at Maya. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s appropriate. After all, I’m just the godfather…”

Before he could finish, Hannah cut in, firm and loud.

“Who said you’re just a godfather? In my heart, you’re a thousand times better than my real dad! You have to go on the show, Dad!”

Maya nodded in full agreement.

“Ivy is right. This is an honor you’ve earned. When the time comes, she and I will go with you to record the show.”

That one sentence sliced through me like a blade, swift and merciless.

I turned off the livestream, my fingers trembling as they swiped over the screen again and again before finally closing it.

The driver, noticing my expression, misunderstood my silence for something simpler. He offered a kind voice of comfort.

“Brother, don’t be too hard on yourself. Every child has their fate. No matter how good other people’s kids are, they’re still not ours.”

I forced a smile but couldn’t bring myself to say it, that the top scorer everyone envied was the daughter I had raised with my own hands.

After stepping out of the car, the rain slapped against my face. I couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears. Either way, everything tasted bitter.

Back home, I peeled off my soaked jacket and walked into the study.

This room used to be our battleground.

From elementary school to high school, I stayed up with her in this very room every night.

The walls were still lined with her award certificates. The shelves still held the hundreds of mistake booklets I had compiled over the years.

I pulled one out at random and flipped through it, each page filled with my handwriting.

Every test error she made, I had sorted and analyzed. I pinpointed her weaknesses and created targeted exercises, one after another.

I had even self-studied the entire high school curriculum, so that I could answer her questions without delay.

My fingers brushed over the now-yellowed pages. What once stood for love now felt like a monument to my foolishness.

Inside the desk drawer lay a family photo of the three of us.

Hannah was still a child, nestled between Maya and me, all of us smiling like the world had never known pain.

Back then, who could’ve imagined it would come to this?

I grabbed the photo and all the mistake booklets, tossing them one by one into the fireplace.

Flames roared to life. Eighteen years of dedication, twenty years of marriage—let it all turn to ash.

"Dylan! What are you doing?!"

Maya’s furious voice rang out from the doorway.

But I didn’t stop. I kept feeding the fire.

Hannah rushed in and caught sight of the burning materials. Her face changed instantly.

"Dylan, are you insane?! Those are my mistake books! That’s everything I worked for in my senior year!"

"My godfather’s going on a TV show soon. He was going to use those! Are you really that jealous? You’d burn them just to humiliate him?"

For a brief second, I thought she was angry because she recognized the effort I had poured into those books.

But no—she only cared that her godfather now had nothing to show off with.

"Yes, I’m crazy!"

"I made those mistake booklets. I have every right to destroy them!"

Something flickered in Hannah’s eyes. Her rage stalled just for a second.

"So what if you made them?" she snapped. "The one who really helped me get into Tufts University was my godfather, not you!"

"I can’t believe how petty you are over something so small! No wonder Mom looks at you with disgust every time!"

The moment she heard her name, Maya froze, her hand still reaching into the flames for the photo album.

To cover the awkward silence, she snapped at Hannah, "Shut up! Is that any way to speak to your father? You’re an adult now, can’t you watch your mouth?"

Realizing she had gone too far, Hannah shot me a scornful glance, then followed her mother’s lead, reaching into the fire to salvage the mistake booklets.

But she still muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear, "Good thing I got here in time. If you’d burned all of them, what would my godfather show on TV? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?"

Maya clutched the photo album, scorched and warped beyond recognition, then pressed her fingers to her temples, her voice heavy with frustration.

"Weren’t these photos what you cherished the most? Now they’re ruined. You’ll only feel worse later. What are you even trying to prove?"

I stood there, motionless, watching the two of them frantically dig through ashes for things that no longer mattered to me.

All I had burned were objects. What they had destroyed was me.

I ignored their frantic attempts to save what little remained from the fire and turned away, retrieving the divorce papers I had already signed.

"Sign them. We’re done here."

Maya stared at the agreement, then looked up at me, disbelief written all over her face.

"Just because I gave Ivy a godfather? Dylan, have you lost your mind?"

"No. It’s because you and your daughter made me realize that twenty years of effort meant absolutely nothing."

I pointed at the fireplace, my smile cold and bitter. "Just like those ashes."

Hannah stormed up to me, her eyes burning with anger.

"Dylan, can you stop being so selfish? When I was drowning in pressure and wanted to end everything, it was Uncle Alexander who helped me through. What right do you have to be mad?"

The daughter I had poured every ounce of love and energy into now looked at me with hatred, refusing even to call me “Dad.”

And the so-called “guidance” she spoke of?

It was nothing more than Alexander secretly giving her a phone and staying up all night gaming with her behind my back.

If the teacher hadn’t pulled me aside to ask why Hannah was falling asleep in class every day, I would’ve never known that, so close to the college entrance exam, she had been sneaking around like that.

In response, I took her to see a psychologist. I cooked her favorite meals every night. I tried everything, anything, to lift her spirits.

But no matter how much I gave, I still couldn’t compete with Alexander’s fleeting two-month presence.

"You’re right. I don’t deserve to be your father."

"So from now on, I’m not."

I turned away and walked toward the bedroom to pack my things.

Behind me, Maya tore the divorce papers into shreds.

Later that night, after showering, she climbed into bed and wrapped her arms tightly around me from behind, her breath warm against my neck.

"Dylan, please… don’t do this…"

But even after bathing, her skin still carried the lingering scent of smoke.

Tobacco, his brand.

My stomach turned. I shoved her away without hesitation.

"Don’t touch me!"

Caught off guard, she tumbled off the bed, her expression shifting instantly into a cold scowl.

"Dylan, are you trying to ruin everything?"

I sneered, lifted my phone, and snapped a photo of the fresh red marks scattered across her back.

"You really think there’s anything left worth saving?"

In the photo, three bold, unmistakable hickeys stood out against her skin.

Her face drained of color. She scrambled to pull on her nightgown.

"What nonsense are you spouting? They’re mosquito bites!"

I didn’t even bother calling out her lie. I just stared at her in silence.

Seeing me so quiet, her voice softened, gentle and coaxing, the way she always sounded when she wanted to maintain peace.

"Dylan, don’t be so petty. Alexander is just Ivy’s godfather. You’ll always be her real dad… no one can ever take your place."