He’s a father to only one of two daughters. But doesn’t our little girl have a heart too?
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’d never abandon his child and would support her however he could. I respected that. After all, the child wasn’t to blame for her parents’ failed relationship. I never protested, never felt jealousy, never interfered—I thought a man who took responsibility for his daughter would be just as much a father to our future children.
But things didn’t work out that way.
When our Emily was born, I was overjoyed, believing he’d now split his love evenly. He did work tirelessly, picking up extra shifts to provide for us. But his attention… all of it flowed away, toward his other family. Every Sunday, he’d leave to visit his eldest. Gifts, outings, films, cafés, social media posts hashtagged *best girl in the world.* And our Emily? She barely spoke to her father. He must have found a baby dull. He’d shrug it off—too tired, too early, she’d grow into it someday. He’d play with her then, read to her, spend time. I believed him. I hoped. I waited.
But time passed, and nothing changed.
When his older daughter started school, Andrew began sending more money for her upkeep. I was back at work by then, so it didn’t break us. Then the calls started. Sophie—his firstborn—began asking outright. Once it was an iPhone, then designer trainers, then makeup, a tablet, a holiday abroad. His ex-wife, to her credit, never demanded a thing. I can’t blame her. But the girl learned quickly how to steer her father. And he let her. He carried guilt—for leaving her life, perhaps—and tried to buy her affection.
His ex even argued with him a few times. Told him he was spoiling the child, that gifts couldn’t replace love. Andrew just waved it off: *I have to make up for it somehow.* But he never seemed to feel guilty toward our Emily. Even though he gave her none of his time.
Every birthday for Sophie was an event—balloons, cakes, photoshoots. Every Sunday, an unbreakable appointment. He never once brought our daughter along. *Sophie will get jealous*, he’d say. *Don’t make things awkward.* But what about Emily’s feelings? Why could hers be ignored for the sake of someone else’s emotions?
I stayed silent. But my heart ached. I never let Emily see my pain, but she noticed anyway. She grew up in a house where her father existed… but only barely. He was there in body, never in spirit. He slept on the sofa, scrolled his phone, mumbled a few words a day. And all she wanted was for him to take her hand, ask about her day, read her a bedtime story.
Now Sophie’s nearly sixteen. Her demands have grown absurd. Sometimes I’m stunned. Andrew never says no—he buys whatever she hints at. iPhones, makeup, designer clothes, trips abroad. Two this year alone. Yet he can’t manage one family holiday for us. *No money. Too tired. Work.*
This summer, Emily stayed home with me while her sister jetted off again. That’s when I snapped. For the first time, I said it all. Not shouting. Just the raw truth. I told him it hurt. That it killed me to watch him forget our daughter. That a child who flies off twice a year and gets the latest tech can’t possibly be *deprived.* But Emily… she hasn’t seen the sea in three years. Never received a gift *just because.* Yet she loves her dad. Waits for him. Believes he’ll notice her one day.
And he’s convinced he treats them the same.
More and more, I wonder if divorce might wake him up. Maybe then he’d see that Emily has feelings too. That she deserves a father, not a shadow slumped on the sofa. But I’m afraid. Because I still love this man. I just can’t bear to watch our girl grow up with an empty heart.
