Chapter 2

After a long while, my daughter, eyes red and swollen from crying, slowly lifted her head.

"I want to."

My nose stung, and I gently held her close.

"Okay. Leave everything else to Mom."

There was a knock at the door.

Thomas stood in the doorway, as if nothing had happened at all.

"Zoey, Daddy's going to take you to pick out a gift."

Her chest rose and fell faintly, tears still swimming in her eyes.

I smoothed her fine, soft hair, and I could see at once that she was wavering.

She takes after me—her heart softens too easily.

I cupped her face and said softly, "If you want to go, then go."

She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and a flicker of joy she didn't even notice crossed her face.

She opened the door.

Thomas gently brushed the tears from her face with the pad of his thumb.

But he didn't say a word.

I rubbed my fingertips together and followed.

When I saw Rachel come along too, I couldn't help speaking up.

"Why is she coming as well?"

Hearing this, Thomas turned to face me with a disappointed look.

"Ina, even if Rachel isn't your own child—"

"—we still can't play favorites. We can't leave the other child out."

Then I watched my daughter climb into the back seat on her own, the rims of her eyes still red.

And I watched Thomas smoothly open the front passenger door for Rachel, and Rachel accept it as though it were only natural.

My fingertips paused for a moment, and I looked out the window in silence.

Playing favorites.

I never imagined that one day I'd hear that phrase come out of Thomas's mouth.

On most of my daughter's important days, he always found some excuse to leave.

When my daughter did poorly on her mock exam, he wanted Rachel—who'd climbed one place in the rankings—to relax, so he took her to the ice rink my daughter had been longing to go to.

When my daughter was filling out her college applications, he ran off to Molly's place to comfort Rachel, who'd fallen short on hers...

I let out a soft breath.

I turned to look at my daughter, and there was a faint anticipation on her face.

I forced down the ache in my eyes and quietly unclenched the palm I'd dug my nails into.

The car pulled up in front of the familiar complex.

I gripped my daughter's hand tightly, my gaze fixed on Thomas as he got out of the car.

He noticed, but all he did was step ahead to open Rachel's door first.

Then, in a light tone, he said,

"Didn't Molly open one of those online stores the young girls like these days?"

"When she heard Zoey wasn't happy with her back-to-school gift, she was thoughtful enough to have me bring Zoey over to pick out a gift."

Looking at the smugness on his face, I couldn't help the wave of nausea that rose in me.

But when I saw my daughter's lashes tremble, I still chose to go with them.

The school-district complex was well guarded, unlike the neighborhood my daughter and I lived in, where drunks were a common sight.

Security guards stood at the foot of each building, there specifically to open and close the doors for residents.

But when it came to my daughter and me, we were asked to fill out a visitor registration form.

Thomas turned back to look at us, his face full of impatience.

"Filling out some information is normal, isn't it? If just anyone could get in, I wouldn't have chosen this neighborhood."

"You two hurry up. Molly's shop is really busy—don't waste her time."

With that, he tucked his laptop in his arms and went upstairs with Rachel.

I closed my eyes for a moment and filled in the information.

While my daughter was writing, I tentatively asked the guard a question.

"That man just now—does he come here often?"

The young man nodded, his expression serious.

"Almost every day."

"You probably don't know this, but around here he's famous—a real devoted husband and father."

My mouth fell open before I could stop it.

The young man seemed to suddenly catch himself, and stopped giving away residents' personal information.

My daughter slowly straightened up, tears streaming down her face as she looked at the guard, repeating over and over.

"He's my father, and my mother is his rightful, lawful wife."