He’s only a father to one of his 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 didn’t hide it—in fact, he made it clear straight away that he’d never abandon her and would always 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 got jealous, never interfered—I assumed a man who took responsibility for his daughter would be just as much a father to our future child.
But it didn’t turn out that way.
When our Emily was born, I was overjoyed, thinking he’d now divide his love equally. He worked hard, took on extra shifts to provide for us. But his attention… all of it went to his other family. Every Sunday—he’d leave to see his eldest. Gifts, outings, cinema trips, cafés, social media posts with hashtags like “best girl in the world.” And our Emily? She barely spoke to her father. He seemed bored with a baby. He’d brush it off—too tired, she’s too young, he’d spend time with her later when she was older. I believed him. Hoped. Endured.
But time passed, and nothing changed.
When his eldest started school, Andrew gave her more money for upkeep. I was working by then too, so it didn’t strain our budget. Then the phone calls began. Emily—the eldest—started asking for things herself. First an iPhone, then designer trainers, then makeup, a tablet, trips abroad. His ex-wife, to her credit, never demanded a thing. I can’t fault her. But the girl quickly learned how to manipulate him. And he let her. He felt guilty—probably for leaving her. So he tried to buy her love.
His ex even argued with him a few times. Said he was spoiling her, that gifts weren’t a substitute for love. But Andrew just waved her off: “I have to make it up to her somehow.” Funny how he never felt that guilt toward our daughter. Though he hardly spent any time with Emily.
Every birthday for the eldest was an event—balloons, cakes, photo shoots. Every Sunday, a mandatory meeting. Not once did he take our Emily along. Said the eldest would get jealous. Said he didn’t want to ruin their bond. But what about our girl’s feelings? Why were her emotions less important?
I stayed quiet. But my heart ached. I never let Emily see how much it hurt me, but she noticed anyway. She grew up in a house where her father existed… but only in name. He was there—physically. But never in spirit. He slept on the sofa, scrolled through his phone, muttered a few words a day. Meanwhile, she just wanted him to hold her hand, ask about her day, read her a bedtime story.
Now his eldest is nearly sixteen, and her demands have gone through the roof. Sometimes I’m stunned. Andrew never says no—buys her anything she mentions. iPhones, designer clothes, trips abroad. Two this year alone. Meanwhile, he can’t even take us on holiday once a year. No money. Too tired. Work.
This summer, Emily stayed behind with me while her sister went abroad again. That’s when I snapped. For the first time, I said everything—not with shouting, but with pain. I told him it hurt. That it killed me to see him forget our daughter. That a child who flies abroad twice a year and gets the latest gadgets isn’t exactly “deprived.” But our Emily… she hasn’t seen the seaside in three years. Never gets a present without a reason. 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 is the only thing that’ll wake him up. Maybe then he’d realise Emily has feelings too. That she deserves a father, not just a shadow lying on the sofa. But I’m scared. Because I still love him. I just can’t watch our girl grow up with that emptiness in her heart any longer.
