No Longer His Little Girl
After seven years of marriage, my husband, Marcus Doakes, gave every bit of his tenderness to his divorced first love and her daughter.
From then on, I began teaching my own daughter to call him "Mister."
When my daughter had an asthma attack and her little face turned blue from lack of air, one phone call from his first love saying, "Jacey is scared of the dark," was enough to make him leave.
I covered my daughter's eyes and told her to whisper, "Goodbye, Mr. Doakes"
At the parent-child piano competition my daughter had been looking forward to for ages, his first love cried that Jacey had no father to accompany her and was too afraid to go onstage. He turned and left without hesitation.
I swallowed the ache in my chest and told my daughter, who had lost her chance to perform, to thank "Mr. Doakes" for coming to watch.
Every time, my daughter could only wipe her tears silently in my arms.
Later, he seemed to finally realize how much he owed us.
For once, he canceled his business banquet and offered to take us to the amusement park for the weekend.
But right at the amusement park entrance, his first love called again.
"Marcus, the children at the amusement park are laughing at Jacey because she doesn't have a dad. Can you come pick her up...?"
When I saw the pity and hesitation flash across his face, he had just crouched down to explain to our daughter.
This time, before I could say anything to remind her, my daughter let go of his hand on her own.
With tears still shining in her smile, she stepped back obediently.
"It's okay, Mr. Doakes. Go protect that little sister.
"I have the cotton candy Mommy bought me. That's enough."