How could he? Mum had only been gone a few months, and he’d already brought that woman into the house…
Jenny sprinted home from school, swinging her PE bag cheerfully, her backpack thumping against her shoulders. She didn’t care—she and Dad were going to the theatre tonight!
She burst into the hallway and immediately knew he wasn’t home—his coat wasn’t on the rack. Her mood nosedived. Then she realised the show wasn’t for another two hours. “He’ll be back in time,” she told herself, clinging to hope.
She peeled off her uniform and waited, eyes flicking to the clock. Usually, the hands dragged, but today they raced forward while Dad stayed missing. What if he forgot? Or got held up at work? Jenny sat fidgeting, fighting tears, when finally, the key turned in the lock. She bolted to the door.
“Finally!” she exhaled. “I’ve been waiting forever—we’ll be late!” Her voice wobbled with leftover worry.
Dad unhurriedly hung up his coat, smoothing his dark grey suit and his perfectly combed hair. Jenny admired him—always put together, clean-shaven, smelling of the same cologne. Her classmates moaned about their dads—too strict, or worse. But her dad never yelled unless she deserved it. She never asked for much—just these little outings with him.
Jenny took after him—slender, sharp-featured, with the same grey eyes. She wished she’d inherited Mum’s smile and blonde curls instead. But Dad called her his princess, his doll—wasn’t that proof she was pretty?
“Aren’t we going to the theatre?” she asked, deflated, as Dad settled in.
“We are. Just let me have a cuppa first, alright? Plenty of time.”
Jenny nodded and headed to the kitchen.
Dad followed, sinking heavily into a chair. He looked exhausted.
“Go get ready,” he said.
She dashed off, already knowing which dress to wear—an emerald-green one. She twirled before the mirror, fussing with her hair.
“Ready?” Dad peeked in.
“Yep!”
The car smelled of leather and that familiar aftershave. Gazing out the window, Jenny felt like the whole city shared her joy.
The theatre never failed to thrill her. Crystal chandeliers, endless mirrors, the crimson carpet rolling up the grand staircase—it felt like stepping into Buckingham Palace.
Couples mingled in the foyer, murmuring under the hush of thick carpet. The rustling crowd sounded like autumn leaves, magical and full of promise. Jenny and Dad wandered, studying actor portraits, though she’d seen them before. The first bell rang, and she tugged him toward the auditorium.
“Slow down,” he laughed. “It’s only the first call.”
But Jenny hurried, eager for the velvet seat, the dimming chandelier. She craned her neck, mesmerised.
“It always smells amazing here,” she sighed.
“Dust and stage makeup,” Dad grimaced.
“I love it.”
By the third bell, the chandelier faded, the gold-embroidered curtain parted, and Jenny held her breath.
At intermission, Dad went to the bar while Jenny visited the loo. She couldn’t find him afterward—until she spotted him by the balcony doors with a heavily made-up woman in an evening gown. Their heads were close, almost touching.
Jenny’s chest tightened. Had he ditched her for this woman?
“Dad!” she called.
He jerked away, turning.
“I lost you! The next act’s starting,” she said, overly bright.
“Who was that?” she asked as they returned.
“A colleague. Ran into her by chance.”
Jenny didn’t believe him.
The second act swept her worries away—until the ride home. Dad criticised the acting; Jenny argued it was brilliant.
“How was the show?” Mum asked later.
“Amazing! Why didn’t you come?”
Jenny noticed Mum and Dad exchange a look. Mum seemed pale, troubled. But once Jenny started gushing, she forgot everything else.
She’d remember that day often—their last theatre trip. Mum had been at the hospital; the awful diagnosis was confirmed. Even then, sadness never left Mum’s eyes. She faded slowly, often hospitalised.
Jenny took over cooking and cleaning, guided by Mum.
“Dad, Mum won’t die, will she?” she asked once.
“Let’s hope not. Don’t dwell on it,” he said.
But Jenny couldn’t stop.
Mum died eighteen months later. Jenny found her before school—one look, and she knew.
At sixteen, she’d seen it coming, yet it still shattered her. She couldn’t fathom Dad’s calm. Didn’t he care?
Grief gripped her long after the funeral, dulling with time but never vanishing.
Then one evening, Dad came home with a woman—younger, heavily made-up. Jenny vaguely recognised her.
“This is my daughter, Jenny. And this is Valerie…” Dad hesitated, pleading with his eyes: *Don’t embarrass me.*
“Lovely to meet you,” Valerie smiled.
“Not mutual,” Jenny snapped, storming off.
She heard them laughing in the kitchen, imagined them kissing. Valerie’s laughter felt like mockery.
“What was that?” Dad hissed after she left.
“You brought your mistress here?!”
“She’s not my mistress. We’re getting married. You’re old enough to understand—life goes on.”
“Do *you* understand *me*?” Jenny’s voice cracked.
Two weeks later, they married. Valerie moved in. Jenny ignored her, even skipping meals to avoid her.
One day, Valerie entered her room.
“I didn’t invite you.”
“Like it or not, I’m your dad’s wife. We could make this easier.”
Jenny stayed silent.
“Fine. War it is,” Valerie said, leaving.
Jenny stuck out her tongue.
Returning from school, Jenny found Mum’s clothes gone—the final straw. She confronted Dad.
“You let her throw Mum’s things out?!”
“They were outdated. We need the space.”
“I hate her! I hate you! You never loved Mum—I *remember* her! That ‘colleague’ from the theatre!”
Dad yelled back; she screamed she’d leave.
He slammed the door. Jenny felt utterly alone.
She stayed, leaving for uni a year later. Dad rarely called; she brushed him off. He sent money—she nearly returned it but refused to let Valerie benefit.
Years later, Dad rang, slurring. “Jenny… come home.”
The flat reeked of medicine. He sat slumped in a wheelchair.
“Jenny…”
She hugged him, pity overwhelming her anger.
Valerie was gone. A neighbour, Auntie Maggie, had been helping. She explained Dad and Valerie had fought often—after one row, he’d had a stroke.
Jenny visited weekly. Dad recovered. Mum’s photo reappeared.
After graduation, Jenny moved back. She met a bloke, married him.
She pitied Dad—but the betrayal, like a splinter, never quite left.
