He Loved His Biological Daughter Or Not

Once Andrew was gone, I left the place with Yuna in my arms as well.

Yuna clung to my neck, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity. "Mommy, where are we going?" she asked softly.

The timing of my rebirth had been fortunate. Although Yuna's mental illnesses were severe at this point, they weren't beyond help.

I stroked her head and smiled gently. "I'm taking you somewhere fun. From now on, I'll make sure you're happy every day, and no one will make you sad again. How does that sound?"

Yuna's face lit up, and she nodded eagerly.

…

While carrying her in my arms, I hailed a cab and headed to one of the city's top psychological care centers.

"Could you please arrange for your best therapist to see us?" I asked the receptionist.

The receptionist acted quickly, and luck was on our side. The center's highly-regarded therapist, Henry Bacon, happened to be available today.

The moment Yuna saw him, she took an immediate liking to him.

"Mommy," she whispered in my ear. "I like this man. His eyes twinkle when he looks at me."

Henry approached us with a warm smile. "Shall we play some games?"

Yuna was normally shy around strangers, but there was something magical about his gaze. Without hesitation, she reached out for him and did not resist as he carried her away.

Watching as Henry gently guided her through the psychological assessments, I felt the weight that had been pressing down on me since my rebirth began to ease slightly.

Just then, I received a Twitter message from Wendy.

It was a photo. In it, Andrew was holding Tonya, gently coaxing her to sleep. Wendy rested against his shoulder, nestled close to him.

It was such a warm and tender scene. Who wouldn't assume they were the picture-perfect family of three?

Along with the photo, Wendy had sent a message.

'Andrew is surprisingly skilled at putting Tonya to sleep. He must be such a good dad at home and always helps out with putting your daughter to sleep, right?'

A good dad? I couldn't help but let out a derisive laugh.

Before Wendy reappeared in Andrew's life after her divorce, the idea of him being a 'good dad' was nothing more than a joke.

I only got pregnant with Yuna because of an accident with our birth control.

When I first found out about my pregnancy, Andrew didn't hesitate to make his stance clear; he didn't like kids, and even if I went through with the pregnancy, he didn't know how to be a good father.

Simply put, he wanted me to abort the baby.

But how could I? That baby was already a part of me, and I couldn't bring myself to let her go.

I insisted on keeping Yuna, and for months, Andrew held a grudge over my decision. It wasn't until much later that he reluctantly gave in. Yet, when she was born, he stayed true to his words. He took no responsibility as a father.

Whether it was helping during my recovery, caring for the baby, or even the smallest gestures of support, he always had an excuse. He'd say his work was too demanding or that his schedule was too packed. I was left to handle everything alone.

Yuna grew up in an environment where fatherly love was practically non-existent. Only when she grew older, stopped crying as much, and became easier to manage did he begin treating her with a shred of warmth.

I often tried to comfort myself with the thought that he simply wasn't someone who liked children and that I couldn't force it.

But eventually, I realized that wasn't the truth at all. It wasn't that he didn't like children, he just didn't like the child I gave birth to.

The day Wendy announced her divorce, Andrew didn't come home that night.

Later on, I saw a video she had posted on her Twitter feed. It showed him frantically coaxing a new-born baby.

"Andrew says he doesn't know how to coax a baby," said Wendy to the camera, followed by a playful laugh. "But he's willing to learn. Hahaha. I'm so excited!"

This was the same man who, years ago, would frown in irritation at the mere sound of Yuna's cries when he returned home. Now, there he was, smiling so broadly that his eyes crinkled, utterly unbothered by the wails of someone else's child.

The child wasn't his. She was born to Wendy and her ex-husband.

Yet, he adored that child as though she were his own, loving her with a depth that reached his very soul. He gave her every ounce of love and care he had to offer.

And my dear Yuna? She was left with nothing.

I didn't respond to Wendy's brazen provocations. What passed between us couldn't even be called a conversation. It was always her calculated taunts, and I never replied to them.

In the past, I was so heartbroken that I dared not respond. But now, I was completely indifferent, taking a step back to bide my time and wait for the right moment to strike.

I smiled faintly as I pulled a debit card from my pocket. The signature on the corner bore Andrew's name.

Then, I snapped a picture of the card and sent it to Wendy.

She was silent and didn't send another message.

But I knew that this was just the calm before the storm. After all, patience was never her virtue.

Thanking You

Ever since Andrew left that day, he never returned home.

I knew that he was waiting for me to yield. However, the Mariah who used to give in to him was the one who loved him deeply. That person no longer existed.

Now, I couldn't care less about his whereabouts.

I threw myself entirely into Yuna's psychological therapy sessions, praying that Andrew would stay away forever and spare me from having to see him again. Perhaps it was because I had already brushed shoulders with death, or maybe it was because I felt nothing for him now, but by some miracle, the depression that once weighed me down for years in my past life had vanished in this one.

Turns out, men are only good for one thing—causing women stress and frustration. Beyond that, they're utterly useless, I thought to myself.

Even though Andrew hadn't come home, I could guess exactly where he was with just the smallest effort. After all, Wendy's social media was a constant stream of updates on Andrew's daily life with her child.

The posts painted a picture of warmth and bliss. Anyone looking at them would surely remark how happy and harmonious this so-called family of three appeared to be. Some mutual friends, clearly unaware of the real story, even asked if the two of them had reconciled. A few others speculated whether Tonya was actually his biological daughter.

In response, Andrew left carefully worded comments to clarify. 'Tonya is still very young and has lost her father. I just want to give her a complete childhood. Please don't misunderstand, guys.'

His words were polished and proper, as though he were some paragon of virtue.

I liked his posts occasionally but never asked a single question. Not one word, not one emoji. Nothing.

Meanwhile, on every social media platform, it was clear he was checking up on me constantly, as his name always appeared on my 'recent visitors' list. I ignored it and pretended I hadn't noticed.

The next day, Wendy's feed would inevitably feature even more detailed updates of Andrew's wholesome parenting moments.

While I was coaxing Yuna to sleep, he was putting Tonya to bed. While I attended Yuna's parent-teacher meeting, he went as Tonya's father to hers. While I accompanied Yuna to her therapy sessions, he was busy fretting over Tonya's scraped finger, acting as if it were a life-threatening injury.

A curious neighbor asked, "Where's the child's dad? Why hasn't he been home for so long?"

I gave a faint smile, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "He's dead."

The neighbor sighed and stopped asking questions.

During this time, Wendy, who had been quiet for days, suddenly sent me a message.

Wendy: 'Aren't you the least bit curious about where Andrew has been all this time? He's great with kids, you know. Tonya's been thriving under his care.'

Such a cheap attempt at stirring things up, I thought. Then, I replied instantly.

Mariah: 'I'm not curious. I'd rather he drop dead somewhere far away.'

She had no idea how much I relished the peace that came with his absence and not having to see the face that disgusted me so much.

Her side went silent for a long time. She kept drafting her reply, but nothing came through for quite a while. Finally, one message popped up.

Wendy: 'So you've learned to play tough now, huh? I wonder who was once desperate, begging Andrew to come home to see his daughter. Once I have him wrapped around my little finger, remember to be a good girl and agree to the divorce, okay?'

I didn't bother typing a response. Instead, I sent her a picture of the debit card again. It was enough to shut her up and bring me peace.

Wendy was quick to act.

Not long after that, she sent me another message, this time with a photo attached. It was a screenshot of a bank transfer record.

There were all kinds of large bank transfers.

I didn't respond.

A few days later, she sent me a photo of a luxury handbag from a high-end brand, adorned with diamond accents. Even the most conservative estimate put its value in the high six figures.

After that, she sent an image of a property deed.

Finally, it was a debit card.

Wendy: 'This card has more privileges and a higher credit limit than yours!'

Every single thing she sent, Andrew posted on his social media.

However, I was the only one who could view his posts.

If this had been the old me, I would probably be sobbing uncontrollably by now.

But too bad for her, I was not that person anymore.

Mariah: 'Thanks.'

Wendy was baffled.

Wendy: 'Have you lost your mind? What are you thanking me for?'

'What else? For giving me a pile of evidence, of course,' I thought.

These days, I took pleasure in making their lives harder.

Henry, knowing my current family situation, asked if I needed a lawyer. He mentioned having a friend who was one of the top divorce attorneys in the city.

I thanked him, transferred him the consultation fee, and gladly accepted his help.

Then, with the evidence in hand, I filed a lawsuit against Wendy, citing a claim for marital assets.