Chapter 3: Tears and Goodbyes

After Jason Hartman finished his statement, he stood up abruptly. Security and his assistant quickly cleared the press and ushered him into the waiting black Escalade—his usual motorcade, windows tinted like a final curtain. I’d seen it a hundred times, but tonight, every movement felt like goodbye.

I numbly shut off the TV. The living room fell into darkness, save for the soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner.

The hum of the fridge mixed with the faint jingle of Maddie’s favorite cartoon from the iPad left on the couch. The open floor plan suddenly felt enormous, the marble floors echoing with every heartbeat. The air was thick with everything we’d never said.

Then, I heard a soft sob—a wounded, low whimper that made my breath catch.

Turning, I saw Maddie on the bottom stair, barefoot, her stuffed fox clutched tight. Her curls stuck to her cheeks, her lower lip trembling.

"Maddie?"

My voice shook as I reached for her, scooping her into my arms.

She was so small and warm, hiccuping against my chest. I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in that powdery, sweet scent of childhood.

"Why aren’t you asleep, sneaking downstairs like this?"

She buried her face in my shoulder, voice barely a whisper.

"Mommy, why did Daddy say he doesn’t have a daughter? If he doesn’t have a daughter, then what is Maddie?"

Her question landed with the weight of the world. I wanted to tell her she was everything—my heart, my reason. But all I could do was hold her tighter, praying my silence was enough.

My heart twisted painfully. The ache was physical, sharp and deep. I wanted to shield her from the truth, but all I could do was hold her.

Jason’s love was always distant—birthday gifts, a pat on the head, maybe a rare smile over pancakes. Maddie adored him, but his affection left her guessing.

She watched him from behind me, waiting for signs she’d done something right—or wrong. Every scolding left a mark.

As her tears fell again, I felt the obsession I’d clung to for years dissolve into dust.

The spell was broken. I realized I couldn’t spend another year justifying his coldness—for Maddie, or for myself.

I stroked her small face, gently wiping away her tears. "It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here."

"Maddie, do you want to leave here with Mommy?"

Her eyes widened, darting around as if she could picture a world beyond these walls.

"Where will we go? Will we come back home?"

I smiled softly. "We won’t come back. This isn’t our home."

I looked at her and answered seriously, "This is your Uncle Jason’s house. We’ve lived here a long time, but it’s time to leave and find our own place."

I tried to make it sound like an adventure—a new start, somewhere safe, just for us.

Maddie nodded, her voice small but sure. "Maddie will listen to Mommy. Wherever Mommy goes, Maddie goes."

My throat tightened. I hugged her close, promising myself she’d never feel unwanted again.

"Good girl."

Her hair smelled faintly of baby shampoo. I squeezed her gently, vowing to protect her always.

I tucked her back into bed, the pink unicorn nightlight casting gentle shadows. I kissed her forehead and sat by her side until her breathing slowed, her hand still clutching mine.

Maddie soon fell asleep.

I watched her chest rise and fall, thinking of all the nights she’d waited for a bedtime story Jason never told.

My gaze fell on the photo frame on her bedside table—a family photo, the only one we had.

It was crooked in its cheap Target frame, proof that we’d once been a family.

Jason sat upright, face cold as ever. I held one-year-old Maddie, smiling shyly, my body leaning toward him—but he didn’t lean back.

Even in pictures, there was distance—a silent gulf between us.

After Maddie was asleep, I took the photo and slipped out of the room.

My footsteps were silent on the carpet. I closed her door gently, not wanting to wake her.

My hands shook as the scissors slid through the glossy paper, splitting us apart. I wondered if Maddie would ever ask why Daddy was missing from her pictures. That empty inch of space in the photo made it easy to cut us apart, as if it was always meant to be this way.