I didn't spare them another glance and limped toward the stairs. But just as I reached the top, I paused.

"Oh, and one more thing," I said without turning around. "Didn't you both say it yourselves last night? I'm not Elise's father. So there's no point in discussing what kind of father I'm supposed to be."

I stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, but the silence barely lasted a second.

Elise burst in, her voice shrill with fury. "Do you really think throwing a tantrum will scare us? That Mom and I will suddenly stop Dad from coming back because of you?!"

She stormed to the wardrobe and began yanking out my clothes, throwing them to the floor with wild abandon.

"You're dreaming!" she shouted.

Her face flushed with rage, eyes brimming with tears of anger rather than sorrow. She didn't stop there. After scattering my clothes, she dashed into the bathroom and returned holding an eyebrow razor. Without hesitation, she slashed at my shirts—blade after blade, muttering curses between clenched teeth.

"You think just because you raised me, I owe you something? You eat our food, wear our clothes and still dare show attitude?!"

She raised her voice further, the words seething through gritted teeth. "You think you're so great, right? Then don't wear what Mom bought you. Don't eat the food from this house. Just get out. Get out!"

Her little body trembled from the force of her rage, her hands cutting wildly as if trying to erase every trace of me.

I stood still, watching her without saying a word. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, but I made no move to stop her.

Gradually, her furious face began to blur in my vision, overlapping with the soft, helpless face of a baby from ten years ago.

The first time I walked into this house, she had been wailing in the nanny's arms. I rushed over instinctively and scooped her up. She had gone quiet the moment she touched my chest. Her tiny head leaned into me like I was her whole world.

Sara had stood beside me that day, letting out a quiet sigh.

"You're Francis' brother and Elise is your niece by blood. Looks like she really trusts you."

That moment had melted something in me. From then on, I became her father—for ten whole years.

When she had a fever, I sat by her bed all night, clutching her hand and adjusting the cold compress every hour. When she was picky with food, I cooked meals shaped like flowers and stars, coaxing her to eat just a little more. When she cried after a fight at school, I held her hand and walked to her classmate's house, standing up for her like a real father would.

And each time, I told her, "Dad will always be on your side."

But in the end, all those memories led here—to this moment, where she stood screaming that I'd stolen her father's place, destroying my clothes with a blade in her hand.

Just then, Sara entered the room. Without sparing me a glance, she scooped Elise into her arms, pressing a palm to her back to calm her down.

She looked at me then, her voice bitter. "So all these years... you were just pretending, weren't you?"

Elise didn't wait for her to finish. She raised the eyebrow razor one last time and hurled it straight at me.

It hit my chest and clattered to the floor. It didn't hurt. But the look in her eyes—that raw hatred—cut far deeper than any blade. If she could've killed me in that moment, I have no doubt she would have.

The door slammed behind them.

Silence fell again. I stood there in the middle of the chaos—fabric scraps scattered like broken feathers—staring at the pile as if something vital had been ripped from me.

I didn't know how long I stood there before Emily, the housekeeper, entered, carrying a small laundry basket. She knelt down without a word and began quietly gathering the ruined clothes.

After a moment, she looked up at me. "Sir, Madam and Miss Elise have already eaten. Would you like to come down and have something?"

Her voice was calm, almost gentle. The simple concern in her eyes struck me harder than I expected. It had been so long since anyone in this house had spoken to me with even a shred of kindness.

I hesitated, then gave a small shake of my head. "No need. I'm not hungry."

Emily didn't press. She stood, but paused at the door. Her back to me, she hesitated again before finally speaking.

"Some kids..." Her voice was soft, but there was steel underneath. "Some kids are just born ungrateful. There's no point giving them your heart."

It wasn't until Emily gently closed the door behind her that the dam finally broke. For two days, I had held back every tear, every choking breath. But now, with no one around to see or judge, I clutched the blanket and broke down in sobs.

Even Emily could see it—how I had poured myself into Elise, given her my best years, my patience, my heart. Yet to Sara, to Elise, to my own parents, everything I'd done was nothing more than my duty. Expected. Taken for granted.

I didn't know how long I cried. At some point, exhaustion overtook me and I fell into a heavy sleep.

When I woke up, the morning light was already streaming through the curtains. Noise floated up from downstairs—voices, laughter, the clink of cups. I dragged myself out of bed and headed down, still numb from the night before.

The moment I stepped into the living room, I froze.

There, seated comfortably on the center sofa, was Francis.

He looked exactly as I remembered—taller, perhaps, more mature, but still with that easy charm that made people gravitate toward him. Elise was curled up in his arms, her face lit with adoration. She clung to him like he was her entire world.

My parents hovered nearby. My mother, who'd spent the last ten years raising her voice at me for every tiny thing, now fluttered around Francis like he was a long-lost prince. My father, always stern and aloof, had a rare softness in his eyes.

"You—you heartless thing," my mother said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Not one phone call in ten years. Were you trying to kill us with worry?"

My father gently tugged at her sleeve. "What's done is done. He's back now. Let's just be thankful for that."

Across from them sat Sara.

She didn't speak. But her eyes were on Francis—fixed, unwavering. The tenderness in them was so naked, it made my chest ache. In ten years of marriage, I had never seen her look at me that way.

Elise let out a cheerful giggle and nuzzled into Francis's chest. "Daddy, you're the best daddy in the whole world!"

My breath caught in my throat. If I hadn't lived the last ten years—hadn't been the one who woke up at 2 a.m. to change her sheets when she had a fever, who showed up at every parent meeting, every scraped knee and school recital—I would've believed him to be the one who raised her.

Sara stood then, brushing down her skirt with composed elegance. "Today's a good day. I made a reservation at the restaurant. Let's all go together."

She didn't say his name. Didn't need to. Her eyes never left him.

And just like that, they gathered—my parents, my wife, my daughter and my brother—as if the past decade had been a brief misunderstanding. As if the disaster of that wedding day had never torn everything apart.

They had forgotten.

Forgotten how the Rogers were humiliated and furious. Forgotten how they withdrew every investment and nearly bankrupted us. Forgotten how my mother collapsed from stress, how my father dragged me out of the lab just days before I was to leave for a research posting abroad.

They made me stay.

Made me stand in Francis's place at the altar. Made me give up my career, my future, my dignity. They told me I had to step up for the Cole Family. That I was their last hope. My father was so desperate, he nearly got on his knees.

I gave in.

I put on that suit. I became the substitute groom.

When I first stepped into the Rogers' manor, Sara was a wreck. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her voice hoarse from screaming. She refused to work, locked herself in her room, drinking herself into a stupor. Some nights, she didn't even know where she was.

And I—I cared for the infant she didn't want to hold. I cleaned up her messes, wiped Elise's tears, fed her bottles in the dead of night. And when Elise cried for no reason, I held her close, humming lullabies until she calmed.

Meanwhile, I stayed up late helping my former research team finish their reports remotely, knowing full well I'd never rejoin them.

One year later, Elise toddled across the room for the first time, arms wobbling. Sara burst into tears and hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe.

"Oliver, thank you," she whispered between sobs. "From now on, let's live a good life together."

I believed her.

I believed her when she said we were a family now. I believed every smile, every tear she shed for me. I thought maybe—just maybe—I had built something real from the ruins.

But now?

Now Francis didn't have to lift a finger. He just had to show up and every sacrifice I made vanished. My ten years of love and labor were erased with one smile from him.

And they welcomed him like nothing had ever happened.

Just as I was lost in thought, Francis spotted me standing halfway down the stairs.

"Ollie, you're awake?" he said, flashing a sheepish smile. "I didn't mean to show up like this—I swear. Elise just wouldn't stop begging me to come home. I really didn't have a choice..."

Before he could finish, Elise stepped in front of him with dramatic flair, as if shielding him from some invisible threat. Her glare pinned me in place.

"Dad, you don't have to explain anything to him!" she snapped. "If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have been separated for so many years!"

Her words barely landed before my mother stormed over. Her palm cracked across my cheek with such force that my head snapped sideways. A ringing settled in my ears, followed by the faint taste of iron in my mouth.

"You ungrateful brat!" she screamed. "If Francis hadn't told us today that you blackmailed him and arranged for his kidnapping, we never would've known the real reason he vanished ten years ago!"

Her chest heaved with rage as she pointed an accusing finger at me. "You just couldn't stand watching your brother get ahead, could you? Stealing his woman wasn't enough? You wanted to be the Rogers' son-in-law, but then you acted like you were some self-sacrificing martyr! Watching your father and me nearly fall to our knees—did that make you feel proud, Oliver? Did it?!"

Her voice cracked with fury. "How could I have given birth to such a heartless, treacherous son!"

I touched the corner of my mouth. My fingers came away stained with blood. But I didn't say a word. I didn't even glance at her. Instead, my eyes landed squarely on Francis.

"Oh?" My voice was low. "So that's what you told them?"

For a split second, something flickered in his gaze—panic, faint and fleeting. But he masked it quickly, forcing his expression into one of heartbreak and vulnerability.

"Ollie, I didn't mean for them to find out. I just... I wanted to come back. I missed them so much. I missed Sara. I missed Elise..."

He staggered a little as he spoke, choking on emotion.

"Please, Ollie, I swear I'm not here to take Sara from you. I won't mess up your life. I won't take your place." His voice quivered. "I just want to be home again. I'm begging you... please..."

His shoulders trembled with every sob. To someone who didn't know better, it looked real. Convincing, even.

Elise didn't hesitate. She stormed toward me and began striking my legs and chest with her fists and feet, tears flying from her eyes.

"You liar! You monster! It's all your fault! All your fault!"

I barely felt the blows. Sara, sitting just behind her, didn't move to stop her. She didn't say a word. She simply watched me with cool indifference—no warmth, no sympathy. There was even a trace of revulsion in her eyes.

I stepped aside, letting Elise's tiny fists swing at empty air and made my way to the door.

Sara's voice rang out behind me. Sharp. Final.

"If you step out that door today, don't ever come back to this house again."

I didn't stop. I didn't turn. I walked out, shoulders steady, heart silent.

This was goodbye.