I sat in a café she sometimes went to and looked through her social media accounts. But there, too, almost everything had been deleted.
The only thing I could think of was to go to the police, but that was another hassle.
While I was filing the report, the police officers barely looked up from their desks.
‘Sir, she’s an adult. We can’t force her to come back. No crime has been committed. She just left. That’s normal.’
‘But she abandoned her child,’ I said. ‘That’s not… normal.’
‘She left her daughter in a safe place. That’s not a crime, is it? Unless the girl isn’t safe with you?’ the officer asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Of course she’s safe! I’m her father!’
And that was it. That was all they could say.
For several days, I lived in a fog of unanswered questions.
Until the seventh day.
I turned on the television, and my whole world collapsed.
Alice and I were sitting on the sofa eating takeaway food because I felt we both needed to eat. Some children’s programme was playing in the background. I wasn’t watching.
Then Alice started flipping through the channels.
And suddenly there she was.
Bright stage lights. Microphone in hand. Her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
Laurel.
My wife, Laurel. The mother of my child. The woman who left us.
I froze in place.
‘Mummy?’ Alice squealed, dropping a few chips on the floor.
The announcer’s voice came over the speakers.
‘We have a woman who has been giving up on her dream for years! But today, she’s finally taking her shot. Please welcome Laurel!’
The audience erupted.
And then…
She started singing.
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Seven years. Seven years of marriage, of living together, of thinking I knew her.
And never, not once, had I heard her sing like that.
Her voice was raw. Powerful. Alive.
The judges looked stunned. The crowd roared and cheered her on.
And all I could do was sit there, frozen, realising…
She never really belonged to me. Laurel was never ours. She spent years being Kevin’s wife. She was Alice’s mother. She folded laundry, packed lunches, and sat next to me on the sofa at night.
But deep down?
She wanted this.
And I had no idea.
The performance ended. One of the judges leaned forward.
‘So, Laurel, why did you decide to do this now?’
Laurel hesitated, then beamed.
‘Because I realised that if I don’t pursue my dream now, I never will. It’s one thing to be a wife and mother. But it’s quite another to watch your dreams slip away. I can’t do that anymore.’
I turned off the television.
‘Daddy? Why did Mummy leave?’ Alice asked, tugging at my sleeve.
I stared at the black screen. I couldn’t tell her the truth. How could I? I knew she needed to know, but… not now.
So I kissed her on the forehead.
‘Because Mummy wanted to fly,’ I said.
That evening, after putting Alice to bed, making sure her night light was on and she was surrounded by her stuffed toys, I climbed into bed.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I know you saw it.
Laurel, of course.
I stared at the message, my chest tightening as I replied.
Then why didn’t you just tell me?
She didn’t reply right away.
Then…
Because I knew you’d try to stop me.
So what? In that moment, I understood everything. I could have fought. I could have begged. I could have tried to bring her home.
But for the first time, I saw the truth.
Laurel never wanted the life we had. She wanted the whole world. And I was never enough. So I did what she never expected.
I let her go.
I blocked her number and filed for sole custody. And we moved on with our lives. Or at least we tried to.
Because in the end?
Alice deserves a mother who truly wants to be her mother. And I deserve someone who doesn’t consider family a burden.
Maybe Laurel got her dream. But we got our freedom.
Still, I had to tell Alice everything.
Alice sat on the table and kicked the waffle iron with her feet. The kitchen smelled of butter and vanilla, warmth filling the space where something else was missing.
‘Daddy?’ she asked quietly, watching me pour syrup into a bowl.
‘Mummy’s not coming back, is she?’
I froze, my grip on the syrup bottle tightening and loosening. How could I tell this girl the truth?
‘No, sweetheart,’ I said softly. ‘No.’
Alice traced the pattern on the flour spilled on the counter.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘No. Never. Mummy didn’t leave because of you. Or even because of me. She had a dream, and she chose it. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.’
Alice nodded.
‘Do you still love Mummy?’
I hesitated.
‘I do, but I love you more.’
The waffle iron beeped.
‘Let’s drown this mess in chocolate sauce.’
‘With extra ice cream?’ she giggled.
And just like that, the kitchen was full again.