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."

But clearly, Alexander had already taken my place in both Maya’s heart and Hannah’s.

Seeing that I remained silent, she let out a sigh.

"How about this, if you stop causing a scene, I’ll let you join us for the TV show taping. You can enjoy some of the spotlight too."

Just as I was about to turn her down, her phone rang.

She glanced at me, hesitated for a beat, then walked into the corner to answer it.

Whatever she heard on the other end made her expression twist in rage. She stormed over and slapped me across the face.

"Dylan! How dare you!"

I staggered back, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth.

"If anything happens to Alexander or his son, I swear, I’ll never forgive you!"

She spun on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming so hard it rattled the whole house. Hannah chased after her, flustered and confused.

I wiped the blood off my lips and quietly went back to packing my suitcase.

In the dead of night, my phone buzzed over and over again.

I stared at the screen, at that all-too-familiar number, took a breath, and picked up without saying a word.

On the other end came Alexander’s low, mocking chuckle. "So? Did it crush you, hearing Ivy call me ‘Dad’ with your ears?"

My fingernails dug deep into my palm, but I kept my voice steady.

"What do you want?"

"I just thought you should know that Ivy and Maya had dinner at my place earlier. They’re staying the night, so don’t wait up."

"Maya couldn’t stop praising my braised ribs. She even said they tasted better than yours. Just like me and you, heaven and earth. No matter how much she once loved you, it’s nothing compared to one smile from me."

I understood precisely what he meant.

I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

In the days that followed, neither Maya nor Hannah came home.

But through Hannah’s social media, I watched their little “family of four” flaunt their happiness online, matching family outfits at Disneyland, enjoying candlelit dinners at Michelin-starred restaurants, and laughing as if they had never known pain.

They became an overnight sensation.

Some netizens began to question.

[Wait… is he the real dad or just the godfather?]

[Is this a drama, or are they actually trying to go viral?]

Maya herself replied in the comments.

[This isn’t for show. Alexander is my daughter’s godfather. As for my ex-husband, we’re finalizing the divorce.]

When more level-headed users began questioning whether she had cheated during the marriage, Maya responded by posting the signed divorce agreement, loud and proud.

She claimed we had already agreed to part ways once our daughter entered university.

Not to be outdone, Hannah stirred the pot online, sparking a trending hashtag on Twitter.

#My biological father bribed thugs to cripple my godfather and little brother. Does a man like that deserve to be called Dad?

The internet went up in flames.

Each day, I received a flood of insults and threats.

My front door was splashed with red paint.

I didn’t even dare step outside to buy groceries.

Then Maya sent me a message.

[This is what you get for bullying Alexander and his son. If I didn’t still have a shred of sympathy for you as my ex-husband, you’d already be behind bars.]

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I forwarded my lawyer the recording of Alexander’s smug phone call that night, along with all the evidence I had quietly gathered.

On the day of the TV show taping, Maya messaged me again.

[As long as you publicly apologize to Alexander and his son, I won’t go through with the divorce. And I’ll make sure Ivy acknowledges you as her father again.]

[But… the fact that we’re still legally married can’t be revealed. Everyone already thinks Alexander and I are husband and wife.]

To tighten the noose, she even made a public statement in front of the press, saying, "My ex-husband will be attending today to give everyone a proper explanation."

The live camera swept across the crowd.

Every head turned, every neck craned, waiting to see me humiliated on national television.

At that moment, I was seated on a flight bound for another country.

Just before takeoff, I tapped once and released everything online.

The hotel check-ins were between Maya and Alexander. Bank transfers she’d made to both him and his son. And most damning of all, the paternity test.