At twelve, I unexpectedly found myself spending the week at home without adult supervision, worried that speaking up might cause problems in Dad’s marriage. But I never imagined Dad had been misled too…
Chapter 7 — I Thought You’d Be Happier Without Me
Dad remained silent for quite a while.
He simply sat next to me, holding my folded schedule.
Eventually, he asked, “Molly, can you explain what you mean?”
I immediately regretted beginning this conversation.
Some things I’d never spoken about because saying them aloud made everything feel more painful.
But Dad continued waiting.
So I began explaining.
“Remember when I stayed at Emma’s house all weekend last summer?”
He nodded.
“Andrea told me Emma’s mother had invited me.”
“Hadn’t she?”
“She had. But Andrea contacted her first.”
Dad frowned slightly.
“How did you find out?”
“Emma told me. Her mother said Andrea asked whether I could stay because you needed a weekend together.”
Dad lowered his gaze.
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“It was fine,” I quickly added. “I enjoyed myself.”
“Molly—”
“And do you remember that summer camp?”
“The art camp?”
I nodded again.
“I didn’t actually want to stay for two weeks. But Andrea had already paid, and she said you were looking forward to some peace and quiet.”
Dad briefly closed his eyes.
“I believed you really enjoyed that camp.”
“Some parts were fun.”
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
I shrugged.
“Andrea told me you’d been working so hard and deserved some rest.”
Dad placed the schedule on my bedside table.
“Sweetheart, I’ve never wanted time away from being your dad.”
I wanted so badly to trust those words.
But there were other things I’d kept to myself.
Like when Andrea purchased concert tickets for herself and Dad, then explained I was old enough to understand that married couples deserved special evenings without their children.
Or the occasions when she suggested I eat dinner while watching television because she and Dad wanted a peaceful meal together.
It wasn’t something that happened every evening.
It didn’t even occur every single week.
But whenever it happened, I felt as though I was being pushed aside.
I never truly believed Andrea hated me.
That uncertainty was what made everything so confusing.
Sometimes she still remembered to purchase my favorite cereal.
She reminded Dad whenever I needed another pair of shoes.
She completed my school paperwork and checked how my grades were doing.
Yet whenever Dad wasn’t home, she often seemed happier when I had somewhere else to be.
“I worked really hard,” I admitted.
Dad turned toward me.
“At doing what?”
“Not causing trouble.”
He seemed confused.
So I explained further.
“I kept my bedroom clean without reminders. I stopped asking you to take me anywhere. I tried not to complain whenever our plans changed.”
I swallowed nervously.
“I believed Andrea would be happier if I didn’t ask for much.”
Dad’s eyes began shining.
“And you believed that if Andrea was happy, I’d be happy too.”
His expression became deeply saddened.
“Was that really what you believed?”
I nodded slowly.
“Sometimes.”
He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Molly, why would you believe I could only be happy if you stayed out of everyone’s way?”
I stared down at my blanket.
“Because you used to be sad.”
He stopped moving.
“Before what happened?”
“Before you met Andrea.”
The words were difficult to say.
“After Mom passed away.”
Dad looked straight at me.
I remembered those earlier years.
He often fell asleep on the couch while the television continued playing.
Sometimes I heard him crying quietly in the kitchen after he believed I’d fallen asleep.
He still drove me to school, prepared breakfast, and helped with my homework.
But he always seemed exhausted.
Then Andrea became part of our lives.
Dad began laughing again.
He sang along with songs while driving.
He brought flowers home on Fridays.
Our house no longer felt quite as sorrowful.
“I never wanted you feeling that way again,” I whispered.
Dad covered his mouth with one hand.
I continued speaking because I feared that stopping would make it impossible to finish.
“When Andrea told me you’d agreed to leave me home, I thought maybe you simply wanted to travel without me.”
“No, Molly.”
“I understood you needed a vacation. And I believed that calling you would mean you’d have to return.”
I wiped my cheeks.
“You seemed so happy in those pictures, Dad.”
He reached out for my hand.
I allowed him to hold it.
“I didn’t want to spoil your happiness.”
Dad slowly shook his head.
“Sweetheart, please look at me.”
I raised my eyes.
Tears were running down his cheeks.
He wasn’t sobbing loudly.
Just crying quietly.
“There’s something important you need to understand.”
I nodded.
“You’re my daughter. You’re not an inconvenience I have to work around to maintain my marriage.”
I began crying again.
He gently squeezed my hand.
“I love Andrea. I married her because I hoped we could create a future together. But you were always meant to be part of that future.”
I tried to respond.
But no words came.
“And after your mother passed away, making me happy again was never your responsibility.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I know.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not sure you truly understand.”
He waited for me to meet his gaze.
“Your responsibility was simply being a child. Mine was making sure you were cared for.”
I rubbed my nose against my sleeve.
Dad reached for the tissue box beside my bed and handed me one.
“I haven’t fulfilled that responsibility as well as I should have,” he admitted.
“You didn’t realize.”
“I should’ve noticed more. I should’ve paid closer attention. I should’ve asked about your feelings instead of believing everything was alright.”
I hated seeing him blame himself.
Still, I understood there was some truth in his words.
There had been moments when I’d wanted to explain things to him.
I’d simply never found the right opportunity.
Or perhaps I’d worried about what might happen afterward.
Dad gently wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Molly.”
I rested against him.
We remained together quietly for a long time.
Then I remembered watching Andrea leave.
Her car disappearing down our driveway.
The overnight bag she’d been carrying.
I raised my head.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Peanut?”
“Could I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I paused.
Then I finally asked the question that had troubled me ever since Andrea walked away.
“Will I still be allowed to live here if you and Andrea aren’t married anymore?”
Dad stared at me.
For a brief moment, he looked too stunned to respond.
