“He’s only a father to one of his two daughters. But does our little girl not have a heart of her own?..”
When I married Andrew, I knew he already had a daughter from his first marriage. He never hid it—in fact, he made it clear from the start that he would never abandon his child and would always support her however he could. I respected that. After all, a child isn’t to blame for their parents’ failed relationship. I didn’t protest, didn’t feel jealous, didn’t interfere—I assumed a man who took responsibility for his daughter would be just as devoted to our future child.
But it didn’t turn out that way.
When our daughter Sophie was born, I thought he would finally share his love equally. He worked tirelessly, taking on extra shifts to provide for us. But his attention… all of it went to his other family. Every Sunday, he drove to see his eldest. Gifts, walks, cinema trips, café visits, social media posts with captions like “the most wonderful girl in the world.” And our Sophie? She barely had a relationship with her father. Perhaps he found babies boring. He blamed exhaustion, insisting she was too young—that he’d spend time with her later, when she was older, playing, reading, bonding. I believed him. I hoped. I waited.
Yet nothing changed as the years passed.
When his eldest started school, Andrew began sending more money for her upkeep. By then, I’d gone back to work, so it didn’t strain us financially. But then the requests started. His eldest daughter—Emily—began asking for things herself. First an iPhone, then designer trainers, then makeup, a tablet, a holiday abroad. His ex-wife never demanded a thing from him, and I can’t fault her for that. But the girl quickly learned how to manipulate her father. And he let her. He carried guilt—probably for leaving her life—and tried to make up for it with gifts.
His ex even argued with him a few times, warning that he’d spoil the child, that presents couldn’t replace love. But Andrew just brushed it off: “It’s the least I can do to make up for not being there.” Yet somehow, he never felt that guilt toward Sophie. He never spent time with her.
Every birthday for Emily was an event—balloons, cakes, photo shoots. Every Sunday, without fail, he saw her. Not once did he bring Sophie along, claiming Emily would feel jealous, that it would “complicate things.” But what about Sophie’s feelings? Why should her emotions be ignored for the sake of someone else’s?
I stayed quiet. But my heart ached. I never let Sophie see how much it hurt me, yet she noticed anyway. She grew up in a house with a father who was physically present but absent in every other way. He slept on the sofa, scrolled through his phone, exchanged a few words a day. She just wanted him to hold her hand, ask about her day, read her a bedtime story.
Now Emily is nearly sixteen, and her demands have spiralled. Sometimes, I’m stunned. Andrew never says no—buying her whatever she mentions. iPhones, designer clothes, holidays abroad. Two this year alone. Meanwhile, we haven’t had a family holiday in years. Always “no money,” “too tired,” “too busy.”
This summer, Sophie stayed home with me while her sister jetted off again. That’s when I snapped. For the first time, I told him everything. Not shouting—just pain. I said it broke my heart to see him forget our daughter. That a child who flies abroad twice a year and gets the latest gadgets can hardly be called “deprived.” But Sophie? She hasn’t seen the sea in three years. She’s never had a gift without reason. Yet she loves her dad. Waits for him. Believes he’ll notice her one day.
And he genuinely thinks he treats them the same.
Lately, I wonder if only divorce will make him see the truth. Maybe then he’ll realize Sophie has feelings too—that she deserves a real father, not just a shadow on the sofa. But I’m terrified. Because I still love this man. And yet, I can’t stand watching our daughter grow up with a void in her heart…
