My wife, Laura, asked me to leave our three-year-old, Mia, and move out temporarily, claiming it was for bonding. The real reason left me speechless. I’m Ben, a 32-year-old dad who lives for Mia. She’s my joy, always calling for me at bedtime or playtime. Mornings begin with her squealing, “Daddy!” as I carry her to make her favorite star-shaped toast. “It’s a kitty!” she laughs when I add jam.
We walk to the park, her hand gripping mine. She loves the swings, shouting, “Higher, Daddy!” as I push. At home, we create pillow forts, where she says, “You’re my king, Daddy!” Her giggles are everything. Laura started feeling sidelined. “Mia loves you more,” she said, hurt. I suggested a mom-daughter activity, but she sighed, “No time, Ben.” Her frustration grew, and I felt helpless.
One evening, after Mia’s bedtime, Laura said, “We need to talk.” Her voice was firm. “Move out for a bit,” she said. Stunned, I asked, “Why?” She replied, “Mia needs me, and you’re too close.” I protested, “She’s three! She’ll be confused.” Laura referenced her dad-less childhood, insisting, “This is for us.” After arguing, I agreed to a week at my friend’s, telling Mia I’d be back soon.
At Joe’s, I ached for Mia. Her nightly “Daddy, come home?” calls tore me apart. I said, “Soon, baby, I’m with Uncle Joe.” On day five, I bought her favorite nuggets, eager to surprise her. At home, I heard strange laughter. Inside, Laura was cozy with her colleague, Nick. “Ben!” she gasped. Nick mumbled, “Hey.” I demanded, “What’s happening?” Laura’s weak “It’s not what you think” confirmed her betrayal.
“You sent me away for him?” I roared. She admitted feeling ignored, but I said, “You destroyed us.” I left, crushed, confiding in Joe. We set up shared custody for Mia, prioritizing her. I moved nearby, treasuring our time. Laura joined a support group, growing closer to Mia, which I appreciated. But trust was gone. Tucking Mia in, she asked, “Daddy, you’ll stay?” I hugged her. “Always.” Mia’s love fueled our new path, giving me strength.
