You loved him too much, enough to make a deal—marry you for a year, then divorce. It was supposed to satisfy your selfish need, even though he didn’t love you. His heart still belonged to his ex.

You sat on the couch, rocking your five-month-old baby, Rhea, in your arms when he walked in.

“When are we going to divorce? I’m tired of waiting,” he said coldly.

You looked up, smiling softly. “Five more months. Just so our baby can have more time with you before you leave us.”

He sighed in irritation. “What a waste of time. I don’t even care about this child.”

“At least she’ll have memories of you before you go.”

“Stop talking. Your child’s crying is annoying.”

You gently shushed Rhea, cradling her close. “Shhh, baby. See? Daddy’s here. It’s okay.”

“Don’t teach her to call me that. I’m not her dad.”

You smiled sadly. “You are. She has your eyes and dimples, just like you.”

He scoffed and changed the subject. “When are you making lunch? I’m hungry.”

“Oh my, I’m sorry! Here, take Rhea for a bit while I cook.” You handed him the baby before heading to the kitchen.

He held her stiffly, expecting her to cry—but instead, she stared at him with wide, curious eyes before letting out a tiny giggle.

He frowned. “What are you laughing at?”

Rhea cooed, reaching for his face, her tiny fingers brushing his cheek.

Something inside him stirred. He never wanted a child. He only wanted freedom. But as he gazed at her, his heart softened—just a little.

“…Forgive Daddy, little one.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.