I begged the butler, “Please, even just a piece of bread!”

But it was too late. Anne had gone too long without eating and collapsed on the floor.

I panicked, holding her in my arms. “She’s just a child! Please!” I pleaded.

The butler didn’t even glance at us. “I'm sorry, sir. Without Lady Bloom’s approval, I can’t pay for anything.”

Desperate, I ran around the mansion asking everyone. Finally, a maid whispered, “The Madam went out with Mr. Mars and his son.”

Anne was only a child, after all. Three days without food or water and she was barely conscious.

“Dad… I’m hungry,” she whispered. Even speaking was too hard for her now.

“Anne, stay with me! Don’t fall asleep!”

I shouted, shaking her gently. As I held her close, I searched online for news. Wherever the city’s richest woman went, the paparazzi always followed, or so I hope.

Sure enough, the top trending post read: [Lady Theresa Bloom rents out an entire luxury restaurant to celebrate the birthday her first love's son!]

It was winder that time. The window was opened and the cold wind rushed in, cutting through my body like ice.

So... that woman could remember his son’s birthday, but she’d forgotten Anne’s? Ironic, her birthday was three days ago too.

That day, the weather suddenly turned colder. Anne was shivering. I bought her a $5 pair of socks without “reporting” it first. Exactly because of that, Theresa locked us in the basement.

She always said she was “afraid of being poor,” and that’s why she controlled every penny we spent. She gave us luxury houses, cars, the best schools, but if we spent anything without permission, we would get punished.

In that grand mansion, even a vase received more care than my daughter and me.

Now, Anne was foaming at the mouth from hunger.

The servants looked at us with pity, whispering to each other. I felt like a bird trapped in a golden cage, waiting to die.

Outside, the rain poured down. Anne’s condition was getting worse.

I clenched my teeth, lifted her in my arms and ran through the storm for half an hour until we reached the hotel that my wife owned.

It took me a long time to convince the staff that I was Theresa’s husband. The manager looked at me strangely but finally let us in.

When the elevator doors opened, I saw Theresa dining happily with Gregory and his son. The boy, Cedric, noticed Anne and smirked cruelly.

He lifted his soda and splashed it all over her. “Where did this beggar come from?” he shouted.

Anne froze, drenched in cola, trembling as she hid in my arms. “Daddy, I want to go home,” she whispered.

Theresa saw us, frowned in disgust and walked over. “Who told you to come here? You look filthy you’re embarrassing me!”

Of course we did! She had locked us up for three days, we weren't even allowed to shower.

Theresa ignored Anne’s pale face. And continued speaking impatiently, “Go home now. Don’t make a scene here!”

I held back my anger and said calmly, “We’ll leave right away. Just please sign the note so I can get food for Anne before we go.”

At that, Theresa’s expression darkened.

“What family of three? We’re not—”

I cut Theresa off. “All I want is a small cake, a bowl of noodles and some sugar.”

Before I could even finish, Gregory’s son suddenly ran over. He grabbed the remaining cake from the table and smashed it right into my daughter’s face.

“Stupid beggar! Who do you think you are? You don’t deserve to eat Aunt Theresa’s cake!”

Anne’s weak little body got hit by the cake plate and the sharp edge cut her forehead. Blood started dripping down and after starving for three days, she finally collapsed completely.

“Anne!”

I rushed over, holding my unconscious daughter in my arms. Theresa just stood there, not moving while Gregory was smiling proudly in the corner.

The anger in my chest burst like a volcano. “You bastards! What gives you the right to eat while my daughter starves?”

I flipped over the entire dining table.

Gregory who had been staying still and watched the entire drama, suddenly screamed. His eyes soon got red with fake tears.

“Reesa, Paul is being so mean! Cedric and I never had such good food before and now he’s wasting it!”

Theresa ran over protectively to shield him, glaring at me.

“Paulo! Have you gotten too comfortable being a rich man’s husband? Greg and Cedric have been mistreated for so long by his ex-wife! I just wanted to treat them to a good meal! How dare you flip the table?”

Gregory covered his face, pretending to cry. “Don’t blame him, Reesa… maybe we just don’t deserve good food.”

The more pitiful he acted, the more Theresa defended him.

Her expression hardened as she called the restaurant manager and ordered coldly, “Take these two to the kitchen. Make them wash every single dish tonight. They can’t leave until they’re done. If you let them go early, I won’t pay today’s reservation fee!”

The reservation cost at least $75,000. So, the manager immediately became nervous and surrounded us with staff.

I looked up at her with fury. “Theresa, are you insane? Anne has low blood sugar! At least let her eat something!”

Anne was still unconscious on the floor, weak from hunger, yet Theresa pushed me away and said icily, “If you waste food like this, then when you finish washing dishes, you can eat from the trash.”

I was too shocked to speak. Holding Anne, her forehead still bleeding, I followed the manager silently to the kitchen.

Theresa called after me, “If you apologize to Greg and Cedric—”

“No need,” I interrupted.

Anyway, we would never be a family again. I said that only in my heart, then walked away without looking back.

In the kitchen, I washed dishes alone while carrying my unconscious daughter on my back.

Perhaps to get revenge, Gregory kept ordering a lot of dish that somehow requires dozens of plates to serve each.

Normally, there were only two or three hundred dishes to clean, but because of him, I washed from 6 p.m. until midnight.

Then another large basket of dirty dishes was brought in. The manager looked uneasy and whispered,

“That man just treated all the restaurant staff to a bowl of birthday noodles.”

By the time I finally finished, it was almost three in the morning.

Before I left, the restaurant owner stopped me and handed me a packed meal. “You’ve worked hard. Take this, let your little girl eat something.”

That entire day, the only person who showed kindness to me and Anne was but a complete stranger.

I held back my tears and thanked him softly.

Outside the hotel, I sat by the flowerbed and opened the meal box.

I fed Anne bit by bit until she finally regained a little color in her face. Yet, she was still weak.

Her small head rested on my shoulder as she whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have wanted those socks.”

She was only five years old and yet she already understood too much of this mess.

Hearing her apology felt like acid burning through my chest. “It’s not your fault, Anne. Don’t ever think that.”

I soothed her gently and carried her all the way home.

As soon as I opened the door, Theresa stood up from the couch where she’d been sitting. “Where have you been? Why so late?”

She was holding a small piece of cake, her face showing a trace of regret. “The butler told me it was Anne’s birthday the other day. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I lowered my eyes. What was there left to say?

The old Theresa used to remember every special day like Anne’s birthdays, our anniversaries, even silly dates like our first kiss or the day we held hands. Now, there was no place for us in her heart.

Seeing me silent, Theresa tried to smile as she handed the cake to Anne.

“Look, Anne, your favorite cake!” But the girl who once adored her mother instinctively pushed it away and gagged.

Anne was frightened. She still remembered how Gregory’s son had smashed a cake into her face.

Theresa’s face darkened with embarrassment.

Unable to hold her temper, she snapped at me, “You’ve spoiled her! She won’t even eat cake now. What does she want, caviar? Gregory was right! Making you wash dishes was the right thing to do!”

That was the last straw. I couldn’t hold my anger anymore.

“Do you know why Anne cried? Because that cake you’re holding was what Gregory’s son didn’t finish. You gave her the leftovers!”

My voice was calm, but every word was sharp as a knife. Theresa froze, stunned.

After a few seconds, she stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Anne, Mommy didn’t do it on purpose—”

I didn’t want to hear more. Exhausted, I carried Anne back to our room and said only,

“Remember to sign the divorce papers.”

That sentence enraged Theresa further. She smashed the cake and grabbed my wrist tightly.

“Divorce? Stop being ridiculous! It’s just a piece of cake! Why can’t she eat it?”

I lost control and shouted, “It’s a blueberry cake! Anne is allergic to blueberries! Do you want her to die?”

Theresa froze, speechless. “I forgot… I’m sorry.”

She tried to take my hand. “I made a mistake, but I won’t agree to the divorce. I’ll make it up to you both. Let’s go celebrate her birthday properly, okay?”

She grabbed us and began calling a restaurant to book a table while gently stroking Anne’s hair.

Then, suddenly, Gregory came out of his room, clutching his stomach.

“Reesa, my stomach hurts!” he groaned.

Theresa immediately let go of me and hurried to him. The tiny smile that had just appeared on Anne’s face vanished again.

Theresa supported Gregory, saying anxiously, “It must be his old stomach problem. It can get serious, I can’t ignore it.”

I said nothing.

Meanwhile, Theresa was already rushing out to start the car.