We met young, married fast, and within a year, we had a baby girl. She was perfect—tiny fingers, big brown eyes, and a giggle that could light up the darkest days. I remember holding her in the hospital, promising I’d always be there for her.

Then, everything fell apart

One night, my wife sat me down at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red, but her voice was steady.

“I want a divorce.”

The words hit me like a punch. “What?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but I wasn’t sure they were real. “It’s not working. We both know it.”

I didn’t know it. I thought we were just going through a rough patch. I begged her to reconsider, to think about our daughter. But she had made up her mind.

Then came the real blow.

“I want full custody.”

My hands clenched. “No. Absolutely not.”

“She’s just a baby,” she argued. “She needs her mother more than anything. You can see her whenever you want, I swear. I would never keep her from you.”

I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want our daughter to grow up in a bitter warzone. So I agreed. A month after the divorce, she remarried.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had my suspicions—late nights, secretive texts, a distance between us long before she asked for the divorce. But I never had proof. Now, I didn’t need it.

I tried to ignore the knot in my stomach. Maybe she was happy. Maybe this man would be good to our daughter.

At first, she kept her promise. I visited often, held my daughter in my arms, and felt like a father. But little by little, things changed.

“She’s sick today,” my ex would say when I called.