They Regretted Locking Me Out on Christmas

This was the daughter I gave up my career for and raised with everything I had.

Despite this, she was willing to wish me dead for another man.

Carson walked over unhurriedly, pretending to comfort her as he patted her head.

All her overwhelming emotions finally spilled over.

Yara buried herself in Carson’s arms, crying uncontrollably.

“Melvin, honestly, I told you not to come. Now look at what you’ve done. You scared the child so badly.”

Carson looked at me with open provocation. His eyes were full of smug satisfaction.

However, I had only been passing by on my way home. What did this have to do with me?

Was her failure due to nerves, or because she never practiced properly?

Just because I was her father, was I supposed to take responsibility for everything and clean up her mess?

“Yara, I’m your father, not a piece of tissue you use to wipe your problems away.

“You’re nine years old. It’s time you learned some responsibility. Stop blaming everything on me.”

Then, I turned and walked toward home, not bothering to look at her again.

Back at the house, I packed all my important documents and personal belongings into a small carry bag.

As for the clothes and watches, I left them untouched.

Click. The lock turned. They were back.

“Don’t cry, Yara. It was just bad luck today. How about I take you to KFC?”

Carson’s voice was unusually gentle. Yara even stopped crying for a moment.

“Really? My dad never lets me eat KFC. He says it’s junk food. Uncle Jones is still the best!”

“Of course it’s not your fault.”

So that was why he sounded so gentle, Lily had just gotten off work.

That same voice I used to hear every night now continued,

“Yara just wasn’t in the right condition today. The fact that you came with her already makes you more responsible than her biological father.”

Was it not her who told me not to go?

Now she was blaming me again.

I let out a cold laugh and placed the divorce agreement on the bedside table.

That way, Lily would see it before going to sleep.

After finishing, I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out of the bedroom.

Yara was wiping her tears when she shot me a vicious glare.

“What are you looking at? I’m talking about you!”

When I looked at her tear-streaked face, still twisted with hostility, I was suddenly reminded of the day she was born.

Back then, Lily had unexpectedly gone into premature labor and was extremely weak.

I had to take care of my bedridden wife and my daughter in the incubator at the same time.

I went nights without sleep, blaming myself over and over.

I blamed myself for not taking better care of my wife, for not being a good enough father, and for letting her come into this world early and suffer so much.

After she was taken out of the incubator, even a simple sneeze made me panic.

I was always careful with her digestion, afraid to give her anything that might upset her stomach.

I had never expected anything like this.

“Yara.”

I sighed.

“I really spoiled you.”

“You didn’t spoil me at all! You forced me to do homework, forced me to eat disgusting vegetables, and you were never nice to me!”

Yara sprang to her feet and screamed at me, “If Uncle Jones were my dad, he’d take me to KFC every day, take me out to play, and would never force me to do anything!”