-“Harry, I wasn’t going to tell you this on your wedding day… But did you know that your new wife has a daughter?” My coworker just nailed me to the driver’s seat.
“What do you mean?” I was refusing to hear such news.
“My wife, after seeing your Emma at the wedding, whispered in my ear: ‘I wonder if the groom knows that his bride has a daughter in a foster home?’ Imagine that, Harry? I nearly choked on my salad at the reception. My wife says she personally processed the abandonment papers for the newborn girl. My wife Anne is a doctor at the hospital. She remembered your Emma because of a birthmark on her neck. She also said Emma had named her daughter Hazel and gave her her last name, Johnson. That was about five years ago,” my colleague said, watching my reaction closely.
I was in shock, sitting in the driver’s seat. What a revelation! I decided I had to clear this up myself. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Of course, I realized that Emma wasn’t a naive teenager; she was thirty-two when we married. Naturally, Emma had a life before me. But why give up her own child? How does one live with that?
In my job, I had the connections to quickly find the foster home where Hazel Johnson was growing up. The director brought out a cheerful little girl with a radiant smile.
“Meet our Hazel Johnson,” the director said to the child. “How old are you, sweetheart? Tell the gentleman.”
It was impossible not to notice the girl’s severe strabismus. I felt bad for her. I already felt a kinship with this little girl. After all, she was the daughter of the woman I loved! My grandmother used to say, “A child may be imperfect, but to their parents, they are perfect.”
Hazel bravely stepped closer.
“I’m four years old. Are you my daddy?”
I froze. How do you answer a child who sees a father in every man?
“Hazel, let’s talk. Would you like to have a mum and dad?” Of course, a silly question, but I wanted to hug this sweet girl and take her home immediately.
“I do! Will you take me?” Hazel asked, her eyes searching mine intently.
“I will, but a little later. Will you wait, sweetheart?” I wanted to burst into tears.
“I’ll wait. Promise you won’t lie?” Hazel became serious.
“I won’t lie,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
Returning home, I told everything to my wife.
“Emma, I don’t care what happened before us, but we need to bring Hazel home soon. I’ll adopt her.”
“Did you ask me if I want this girl? And she’s cross-eyed too!” Emma raised her voice.
“She’s your own daughter! I’ll arrange an operation for her eyes. Everything will be fine. She’s a delightful girl! You’ll fall in love with her right away,” I was astonished at my wife’s reaction.
After much persuasion, I barely convinced Emma to adopt Hazel.
We had to wait about a year before we could bring Hazel home. I frequently visited her at the foster home. Over that year, we became friends, getting used to each other. Emma still didn’t want to have a child and even tried to pause the adoption process halfway through. I insisted we continue and complete the process.
Finally, the day came when Hazel stepped into our home for the first time. The little things we take for granted amazed and delighted her. Soon, ophthalmologists adjusted Hazel’s eye alignment. These treatments took about a year and a half. I was glad my little girl didn’t need surgery.
In every way, Hazel was becoming a mini version of her mum, Emma. I was happy. I had two beauties in my family – my wife and daughter.
Almost a year after leaving the foster home, Hazel couldn’t get enough to eat. She constantly carried a packet of biscuits, even in her sleep. We couldn’t get that packet away from her. She had an inevitable fear of being hungry. Emma found it irritating, but it astonished me.
I was always trying to bring the family together, but to no avail… Emma never managed to love her own daughter. She loved herself more – her letter “I” with the firm foot sticking out.
We had arguments, squabbles, and hurtful quarrels over Hazel. “Why did you bring this wild child into our family? She’ll never be normal!” Emma would scream hysterically.
I loved Emma dearly. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Yet, my mum once remarked, “Son, it’s your life, but I saw Emma with another man. It won’t work out with her. Emma is insincere, cunning, a smooth talker. She’ll have you wrapped around her finger before you know it.”
When you’re in love, you see no obstacles. Your happiness shines brighter than the stars. Emma was my ideal. The crack in our relationship first appeared when little Hazel came into our house. Perhaps it was she who opened my eyes to the real state of my family. I was surprised by my wife’s indifference towards the little one.
I desperately wanted to stop loving Emma, to cool towards her, but I couldn’t. A friend once advised me: “Listen, if you want to lose feelings for a woman or girl, measure her with a tailor’s tape. It’s an old wives’ tale.”
“You’re joking, right?” I asked, puzzled.
“Measure her bust, waist, hips. That’s it, you’ll stop loving her,” my friend seemed to be making fun of me.
Still, I decided to try this simple experiment. I had nothing to lose.
“Emma, come here a moment, I’ll take your measurements,” I called to her.
Emma was surprised, “Should I expect a new dress?”
“Perhaps,” I replied, already carefully measuring her bust, waist, and hips with the tape.
Experiment finished. I love Emma just the same. I laughed at my friend’s audacity.
Soon Hazel fell ill. She caught a cold and developed a fever. My daughter was whining, sobbing, and sniffling. She followed Emma everywhere, clutching her doll Lucy tightly. I was glad that instead of biscuits, Hazel now had the doll, Lucy, in her hands.
My daughter loved endlessly dressing up her doll. But now the doll was bare, which meant Hazel was sick with no energy to dress it. Emma snapped at Hazel, “Quiet down already. There’s no peace with you! Go to sleep!”
Hazel clung to her doll and kept sobbing, crying out loud. Suddenly, Emma snatched the doll from Hazel’s arms, rushed to the window, opened it, and fiercely threw the toy outside.
“Mum, that’s my favorite doll Lucy! She’ll freeze outside! Can I run after her?” Hazel cried out, dashing for the door.
I immediately rushed to retrieve the doll. The lift was out of order, so I dashed down the stairs from the eighth floor. The doll had caught on a tree branch, hanging upside down. I fetched it and brushed off the snow. The melting snowflakes on the doll’s face seemed like tears. As I climbed back upstairs, I thought I might turn gray from the stress.
Emma’s act was inexplicable. I entered Hazel’s room. She was on her knees by her bed, her head resting on the pillow. Hazel was asleep, occasionally sobbing and shivering. I gently laid her in bed, placing the doll beside her on the pillow.
Emma sat in the living room, nonchalantly reading a glossy magazine, unconcerned about Hazel. At that moment, my love for Emma dried up, melted, evaporated. I finally understood she was an attractive, yet empty wrapper.
Emma must have understood everything.
We divorced. Hazel stayed with me, and Emma didn’t object at all.
…Upon meeting my ex-wife later, she smirked at me, saying, “Harry, you were just a stepping stone for me.”
“Ah, Emma! Your eyes are azure, but your soul is soot,” I finally had the peace to voice my reproach.
Emma soon remarried a successful businessman.
“I feel sorry for her husband. Such a woman shouldn’t be a mother,” was my mum’s verdict.
Hazel initially missed her mum terribly, wanting just to touch her.
But my new wife, Alice, managed to win over Hazel’s heart, melting it. It turned out that Hazel’s biological mum had rejected her twice. To me, it was unimaginable.
Alice, with enormous love and immeasurable patience, took care of Hazel and our son Freddy.
