On Father's Day, I received a heartwarming gift.

My one-year-old son called me Dad for the first time. But moments later, he convulsed, foamed at the mouth, and died before we could reach the hospital.

My wife was shattered, and I was devastated. The doctors couldn't identify the cause of his death.

Three years later, my wife emerged from her grief, and we welcomed our second child. But the moment this child called me Dad, they, too, died instantly.

To spare her further pain, I suggested adoption. Yet, even our adopted children met the same fate. Unable to bear the losses, my wife divorced me.

Everyone said I was cursed, never meant to be a father.

Defiant, I remarried and had another child, vowing never to let them call me Dad. For years, we adhered to this rule.

But when our daughter turned four, she came home from preschool, eager to celebrate Father's Day. Holding a card, she read aloud, "Dad."

The word hit me like a bolt, freezing me in place.

In an instant, I leaped up, snatched the card from her hands, and warily scanned the room.

Despite the silence around us, my pulse refused to slow. My hands tightened on her arms.

"Ouch!" Stephanie cried out. "Dad, you're hurting me!"

"Quiet!" I snapped, terror overwhelming me.

My second wife, Florence, rushed out of the bedroom, alarmed by the noise. She pulled Stephanie into her arms and glared at me. "Have you lost your mind? Why are you scaring her?"

Sweat beading on my skin, I stammered, "Did you hear what she called me?"

Before Florence could respond, Stephanie sobbed, "Why can't I call you that? Aren't I your daughter? The kids at school say I'm not."

I tried to explain, but words died in my throat. I'd lost three children before, all dying moments after calling me Dad.

Each death was different. My eldest child convulsed, foaming at the mouth; my second collapsed, unconscious.

They all died instantly, and autopsies revealed nothing.

The losses broke my first wife and me. We suspected a genetic flaw, as both children died around their first birthdays. To avoid further tragedy, I adopted a child.

When I met her, the eight-year-old girl beamed and called me Dad. But seconds later, her smile twisted into agony. Blood sprayed from her mouth, and she collapsed, lifeless.

The orphanage director was stunned. "Impossible! She was perfectly healthy. How could she die so suddenly?"

All eyes turned to me, and someone recognized me.

"Isn't that the man who lost two kids? Her death must be his fault!"

"How else do you explain kids dying right after calling him Dad?"

Their accusations pierced me. I stood frozen, unable to look at the girl's body. I shook my head, insisting I'd done nothing, but no one believed me.

It took months of police investigation to rule her death a sudden illness, but the doctors couldn't name it.

My name was cleared, but my first marriage ended.

People pitied Janet Allen, cursing me as a monster unfit for fatherhood. Online, some declared I was fated to be childless.

I spiraled, contemplating ending it all. My parents, desperate to protect me, found me a therapist.

With time, I rebuilt my life, remarried, and had a daughter.

From her birth, I forbade her from calling me Dad. She reached four safely, and I'd nearly forgotten the terror of watching a child die before me.

Now her utterance of "Dad" reignited my nightmare.

"You're sick, Kurt!" Florence snapped. "You're fine with her being mocked as a fatherless child? She calls you Dad, so what? She is fine."

I checked Stephanie from head to toe. She looked fine, which shocked me.

I started to wonder if my curse was broken. Overjoyed but cautious, I insisted she stay in my sight.

Scared of my outburst, she hid behind Florence. "Mom, I don't want to be with Dad."

Florence frowned. "Stop overreacting, Kurt."

Ignoring my protests, she took Stephanie to the bedroom for a nap. But as soon as the door closed, her scream pierced the air.

I raced in and found Florence cradling Stephanie's lifeless body, blood streaming from her eyes, nose, and mouth. My child was gone again.

I stood paralyzed as Florence desperately clutched Stephanie, sobbing uncontrollably.

Paramedics arrived, confirming Stephanie had no vital signs.

"No! She was healthy. How could she just die?" Florence screamed, collapsing in grief.

The doctor's heavy gaze fell on me. Before he could say anything, Florence's rage flared. "I don't believe she died just from saying Dad. I demand an autopsy. I need to know what killed her!"

The autopsy room's lights dimmed. The doctor came out, sighing, "We couldn't identify the sudden illness that took her."

Inside, Stephanie's body was marred with incisions. Overcome with grief, Florence glared at me. "Why? Why did she die right after calling you Dad? What did you do?"

I could only shake my head. "I don't know. She was my child, too. I'd never hurt her."

I sank to my knees, broken, but the crowd showed no sympathy.

"I pitied him before, but now he deserves this. He knows kids die around him, yet he keeps trying."

"His ex-wife gets remarried and has healthy kids. It's clearly his fault."

"I'm starting to think he's behind these deaths. Why else keep having kids?"

"Maybe it's not him directly. Could be an enemy targeting his children for revenge."

"Either way, his wife and kids suffer the most."

My parents arrived, desperately trying to defend me. My mother Dora shielded me, pleading with the crowd. "Please, the police ruled these were sudden illnesses. If anyone's to blame, it's us for not monitoring their health. Kurt is innocent."

The onlookers were relentless.

"Innocent? One kid dying suddenly is plausible, but every one?"

"All right after calling him Dad?"

"Doctors can't even name the illness. How many coincidences can stack up?"

Florence's eyes blazed. "Do you really not know how Stephanie died?"

Before I could answer, Dora stepped forward. "Florence, we're so sorry, but Kurt didn't do anything. We know losing Stephanie is tearing you apart. It's tearing him apart, too. Can we go home and talk?"

Florence pushed her away. "How long are you going to protect him? When his former kids died, you cried before cameras, begging people to drop it. He just let you grovel, and you're still defending him?"

Her glare fell on me. "Are you just watching them grovel like this and still won't tell the truth?"

Florence's words drew every eye to me.

"There's a truth here. These deaths are too strange."

"What's the real story?"

The crowd turned to Florence, but her accusing stare pinned me.

"You want the truth?" I smiled bitterly. "I'm desperate to find out. I loved them more than anyone else, but I don't know why they died after saying Dad."

"You're lying!" Florence slapped me, pointing at Stephanie's body, covered by a sheet. "That's not Stephanie. She's alive, isn't she? Where are you hiding her? Give her back!"

The room froze.

With the body lying there, they believed Florence's grief had broken her. But then, she showed a live video feed. In it, Stephanie was at preschool, alive and well.

All eyes shifted to the corpse, whose identity was now questionable.

"Why are you doing this?" Florence pressed. "Give me my daughter back. Which school is she at? When did you switch her?"

"I didn't," I started, but my mom cut me off. "Kurt, stop lying!"

She went over to Florence, tears streaming. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't bear the guilt anymore. The girl in the video isn't Stephanie. I know how she died."

"What?" Florence's eyes widened, her face ashen as she leaned closer.

"It was him." My mom pointed at me. "He killed them. He's got that super-male syndrome and he has violent streak. He killed countless pets when he was a child and I covered for him. But I never imagined he'd murder his kids. We tried to stop him, but he swore each time was the last."

She sobbed, continuing, "We're guilty for covering up for him. He's our only son. But I can't watch you lose your mind. Stephanie is gone. Kurt killed her."

The crowd was stunned.

"Did I hear that right? Kurt killed his kids?"

"Even animals don't kill their young. Why would he?"

Florence stood rigid, glancing at me.

I was dumbfounded. "I didn't."

"Your parents have always protected you. No way they'd frame you!" Florence yelled. "Why did you kill my daughter?"

I looked at my parents, who urged me with pained expressions. "You've done enough wrong. We can't keep hiding this. It's eating us alive."

I was incredulous, unable to understand why they framed me like that. I tried to speak, but the crowd believed my parents wouldn't betray me.

A man punched me in the face. "You monster, killing your kids and acting innocent? Even death is too good for you!"

"That's right. We're bringing him to justice!" Others joined in, beating me as I lay defenseless.

In my despair, I glanced at the girl's face on Florence's phone.

Then it clicked why my children died after calling me Dad.