Since Adele—Ethan’s childhood best friend—got divorced, everything about him changed. He grew cold. Distant. As if his heart slowly shifted elsewhere. His reason was always the same: pity. Adele was alone. Adele was pregnant. Adele needed him.

Yet you were his wife.

And Alice—your little daughter—still waited for her father every day, eyes full of hope.

“Love, Alice wants to go to the mall today,” you said softly, wrapping your small hand around his arm, just like you used to. “I can’t,” Ethan replied flatly. “Adele asked me to take her to the obstetrician.”

He didn’t even look at you. He gently removed your hand and walked away, leaving you and Alice standing behind him in silence.

The days that followed repeated the same pattern. Ethan rarely came home. When he did, it was only briefly—before leaving again with the same excuses: Adele’s stomach hurt, Adele needed a checkup, Adele couldn’t be alone.

One night, you finally gathered the courage to speak. “Ethan,” you said, approaching him as he stood in front of the mirror, fixing his tie. “I’m your wife. Alice is your daughter. We need your attention too.”

He turned around, his gaze cold and tired. “Adele is my friend,” he said. “She doesn’t have a husband anymore. What if you were in her position?” Your chest tightened. After a moment of silence, you whispered, barely audible—

“So… do you want me to become like Adele?” There was no answer.

Swallowing your tears, you tried once more. “Alice and I need you, Ethan.” But instead of responding, he walked past you. “I don’t have time to argue about things that don’t matter,” he said before leaving.

That night, Alice’s fever rose dangerously high. Her small body burned with heat, her breathing weak. She clung tightly to your hand, eyes half-closed.

“Mommy… I want Daddy,” she whispered faintly. You called Ethan again and again. Every call was rejected.

Every message went unanswered. Hours passed. Then days. Until the doctor finally lowered his head and spoke in a heavy voice—

Alice didn’t make it. Your world shattered. “She’s gone, Ethan!” you screamed when he finally stood before you. Your body trembled, sobs tearing out of your chest. “Our daughter is gone!”

Ethan only looked at you briefly—then walked past you. “You’re overreacting,” he said coldly. “It was fate.” Those words destroyed what little remained of your heart. “I’m going to the hospital,” he added, grabbing his car keys. “Adele is about to give birth.”

He left without a hug. Without tears. Without a single goodbye for his own child— As if Alice’s death was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.