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 he’d never abandon his child and would always support her however he could. I respected that. After all, a child isn’t to blame when things between parents fall apart. I didn’t protest, didn’t get jealous, didn’t interfere—I thought a man who stepped up for one daughter would naturally do the same for ours.
But that’s not how it went.
When our Emily was born, I assumed he’d now share his love equally. He worked hard, took on extra shifts to provide for us—but all his attention? That went straight to the other family. Every Sunday, he’d drive off to see his eldest. Gifts, outings, cinema trips, café dates, social media posts with hashtags like #BestDaughterEver. And our Emily? She barely spent time with him. I suppose babies bored him. He’d brush it off—too tired, she’s too young, he’d play with her when she was older. I believed him. Hoped. Waited.
Years passed. Nothing changed.
When his eldest started school, Andrew upped the child support. I was working by then, so it didn’t hurt our finances—until the calls began. Suddenly, Sophie—his firstborn—was asking for things directly. First an iPhone, then designer trainers, then makeup, a tablet, a holiday abroad. His ex-wife, to her credit, never demanded a thing. No, Sophie just figured out how to play him. And he let her. Guilt, I suppose—for leaving. So, he tried to buy her love.
Even his ex scolded him a few times, warned he’d spoil the girl, that gifts weren’t a substitute for love. Andrew just waved her off: “It’s the least I can do.” Funny how he never felt guilty toward Emily. He barely spent a minute with her.
Sophie’s birthdays? Full-blown events—balloons, cakes, photo shoots. Every Sunday? Non-negotiable visits. Not once did he bring our Emily along. Said Sophie would get jealous, that it’d “complicate things.” But what about Emily’s feelings? Why did hers matter less?
I bit my tongue. But my heart ached. I hid my hurt from Emily, though she noticed anyway. She grew up in a house with a father… technically. He was there—physically. But not really. He napped on the sofa, scrolled his phone, mumbled a few words a day. All she wanted was for him to hold her hand, ask about her day, read her a bedtime story.
Now Sophie’s nearly sixteen, and her requests have skyrocketed. Honestly, sometimes it’s absurd. Andrew never says no—iPhones, designer clothes, holidays abroad. Two this year alone. Meanwhile, we haven’t had a proper family trip in ages. Always “no money,” “too busy,” “work’s mad.”
This summer, while Sophie jetted off again, Emily and I stayed home. That’s when I snapped. Not shouting—just pain, finally spilling out. I told him it hurt. That watching him forget our daughter crushed me. That a girl flying off twice a year and getting every gadget under the sun wasn’t “deprived.” But Emily? Three years since she’s seen the sea. Never a gift “just because.” Yet she loves him. Waits for him. Believes he’ll notice her one day.
And he’s convinced he treats them the same.
Lately, I wonder if divorce might wake him up. Maybe then he’d see Emily has feelings too—that she deserves a father, not a ghost slumped on the sofa. But I’m terrified. Because I still love him. I just can’t bear watching our daughter grow up with that emptiness inside…
