Past the Crossroads of No Return

Luther's lips turned downward, as if he were apologetic. "Skyler, are you upset with me? I'm sorry. I know I caused all of this."

As he stepped closer, however, his voice dropped to a volume that only I could hear. His words turned vicious. "Do you know why Willow got drunk five years ago and let you have your way?"

A cruel smile curled at his lips. "It was because I told her I wanted a baby. I didn't expect her to down half a bottle of red wine right away, only to stumble into the arms of the wrong man.

"When she came to me pregnant with your child, she was sobbing, said she couldn't let the kid be born without a father."

He brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve, his movement elegant yet humiliating. "I pitied her, so I let her keep the baby. Otherwise, what made you think someone like you was ever worthy of being with her?"

I stared at Luther's mocking smile.

So, the child I had longed for and cherished had been nothing more than an accident, a mistake. No wonder Willow had been oddly passionate that night. She had simply mistaken me for someone else.

Fury and humiliation finally churned inside me. My hand came down hard across his face. "You son of a bitch!"

Behind me, Willow screamed at the turn of events and didn't hesitate to slap me in return. "What do you think you're doing, Skyler?"

She rushed to help Luther up, her face full of pity. Naomi also started hitting me, as if trying to get revenge for her beloved daddy.

I looked at Luther again. That same mocking smile still lingered at the corner of his lips. For a fleeting moment, I realized Willow might not have been so different from me.

I had spent six years longing for her love, while she had relentlessly chased after him, unaware that he saw her only as a disposable plaything.

I covered my face and closed my eyes. From my bag, I pulled out the divorce papers. My voice was terrifyingly calm. "Just sign it. I don't want custody of Naomi."

Willow froze, clearly not expecting me to drop such a bomb.

I slammed the papers onto a nearby desk. "It's been six years. I'm tired. You can do whatever you want, be with whoever you want, and let Naomi call whoever she wants 'Daddy.' I don't care anymore."

Before she could respond, Luther, behind her, covered his face. Tears welled pitifully at the corners of his eyes. "I'm fine, Willow. It's okay. Just don't ruin your relationship for me."

Her eyes fell on his swollen face. As if fueled by determination, she snatched up the divorce papers. "Oh, I'll sign! You'd better not regret this, Skyler Johnson!"

With that, she tossed the signed papers aside and hurriedly helped Luther out the door.

Her eyes were full of endless worry, just like back then.

When Naomi was three and had a febrile seizure in the middle of the night, I ran down the emergency room hallway with Naomi in my arms. Meanwhile, Willow had said over the phone, "Luther's stomach isn't feeling well. I can't leave."

"Mr. Lloyd, look! I drew our family!" Naomi suddenly chirped, running ahead to show a crayon drawing. On the paper were three little figures holding hands, devoid of my existence.

I stood in place, my fingertips suddenly tingling.

Last winter, when Naomi was hospitalized with the flu—feverish and delirious, repeatedly calling out for me—I stayed with her for three whole days, rubbing her palms and soles with a warm towel.

When the nurse came to change her IV, she had said, "Your dedication as a dad is remarkable, Mr. Johnson."

Back then, Naomi had held my finger tightly and whispered, "Don't leave me, Daddy."

I looked away, trying to hide my emotions.

Bending down, I picked up the divorce agreement and let my fingers brush over Willow's messy signature. For a moment, the ink felt like the six years we had shared—careless, ruthless, and pointless.

Without looking back, I turned and boarded my international flight.