Kyle hadn’t reached out in weeks — no calls, no texts — but suddenly, just before Father’s Day, he wanted to visit. I agreed, knowing full well it wasn’t about love for our daughter, Emma. It was about appearances. What he didn’t realize? Emma had made a card at school that might quietly reveal everything — and I wasn’t stopping her.
Since our divorce, Kyle’s turned his Instagram into a highlight reel of his so-called “fatherhood.” Picture-perfect snapshots of old birthday parties, smiling selfies with Emma from years ago, and syrupy captions like, “Always proud to be your dad.”
Last week, he posted one from her sixth birthday. She’s nine now.
But while he’s chasing digital admiration, he’s completely ditched real-life parenting. No child support in six months. Canceled visits piling up. He hasn’t even texted Emma in nearly a month — not even a “how are you” or “goodnight.”
Every evening, I watch Emma glance at her phone after dinner, hoping. Her little face crumbles when there’s nothing. It guts me every time.
Then, as if on schedule, a message from Kyle popped up:
“Thinking of stopping by Sunday to see Emma for Father’s Day.”
I stared at it, stunned. The nerve — six months of nothing, and now he wants to play hero? But instead of arguing, I simply replied, “Sure. Come by at 3.”
That night, I gently told Emma her dad might visit.
“Really?” she asked, voice tight with guarded hope.
She dug into her backpack and pulled out a half-finished Father’s Day card — scribbled hearts on one side, the rest blank.
“My teacher made us start these,” she said softly. Then, quieter:
“I didn’t know what to write. I don’t even know if I still have a dad.”
It broke me.
I hugged her tight, whispering she didn’t have to finish it if she didn’t want to. But she pulled back, studying me with quiet determination.
Then a spark lit in her eyes.
“Actually… I think I know what to write.”
She grabbed her markers and paper, sat down at the table, and got to work — occasionally asking for help cutting shapes or cleaning up glue.
She was up to something. And I was going to let her tell her truth — her way.