Raising Her Daughter

Samantha Foster’s eighteenth birthday party was nothing short of extravagant.

The girl I raised with my own hands had grown into a tall, graceful beauty. Yet between her brows lingered a sharpness and arrogance, just like Kim Foster in her younger days.

In the crowd, she stood between Kim and Luke Wright, who was dressed in a tailored suit.

And I, Kim’s lawfully wedded husband, stood off in a corner, like an outsider peeking in on their happiness.

“Dylan, didn’t you see Luke’s glass is empty? Go pour him a drink.”

It has been eighteen years.

Being ordered around like this had long since become normal.

Kim commanded me like it were only natural. It was as if I weren’t her husband, but just a convenient servant.

I answered flatly, “Okay.”

“Dylan, how can we let you do this kind of work? If people see it, they might think I’m bullying an honest man.”

Luke stood there with one hand in his pocket, a playful smile curling at his lips, his eyes full of provocation.

Then, he casually pulled a document from his suit and flicked it in front of me.

“But… now that Samantha’s an adult, it’s about time you got out, isn’t it?

“Samantha is my biological daughter. You’ve worked hard raising her for me, sure, but my daughter doesn’t need two fathers.”

At those words, whispers spread through the crowd. Their gazes pierced into me like needles.

“Man, Dylan really got the short end of the stick. Raised her for eighteen years, and now the real dad comes back to take everything.”

“What’s so tragic about it? He just wanted the Fosters’ money. Guys like him, living off a rich family, have no backbone. He stayed for the benefits. He deserves this humiliation.”

Their words splashed against wounds that had already long healed.

I didn’t argue and just looked at Samantha.

The child I had raised with my own hands stood beside another man, coldly looking away.

It felt like a dull blade dragging across my chest.

I clenched my fists, my voice low.

“Samantha… these eighteen years, Luke never cared about you. It was me—”

“Shut up!”

Samantha cut me off sharply, her eyes filled with disgust and impatience.

“Can’t you understand plain English? My dad is back. So can you, as a servant, have some self-awareness?

“Just looking at your stiff face makes me sick. Get lost already.”

“Good. That’s my girl.”

Luke patted her shoulder, nodding in satisfaction.

I, on the other hand, was shoved back two steps, barely managing to steady myself.

When Samantha was five, she had a high fever. Luke and Kim went off on a vacation overseas without a second thought, leaving her behind.

I was the one who took her to the hospital. I was the one who held her all night in the pediatric ward, soothing her to sleep and staying by her side.

Back then, she clutched my collar and cried, “Daddy, don’t go,” over and over again through the night.

Now, this was what she said to me.

“Fine… I’ll go.

“I’ll leave right now and stay far away from all of you. I don’t want this family anymore.”