Chapter 1

My husband has never truly let go of his first love.

I thought that after years of marriage and raising a beautiful daughter together, I could finally warm his heart. But the moment Cindy Smith came back into the picture, my marriage became a cruel joke. Worse yet, my daughter, my sweet little girl, became nothing more than a cold, lifeless body.

"A daughter can always be born again, but Cindy… Cindy can't be left alone."

Looking at the man I had loved for ten years, my heart finally shattered.

The day Cindy returned, everything changed.

Norman grew distant. He barely looked at me, barely spoke to me. The warmth in his eyes, once reserved for our family, was gone, replaced by empty pleasantries and cold indifference.

Late nights at the office became a regular excuse. But I knew better. He wasn't working. He was with her.

Even our seven-year-old daughter, Nina, noticed something was wrong.

"Mom, why doesn't Daddy come home anymore? What's he getting me for my birthday this year?"

I stroked her soft curls and smiled. "Why don't you call him and ask?"

Excited, she grabbed the phone and dialed.

The moment he picked up, his voice was sharp, irritated. "Stop calling me all the time! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

Nina's little face scrunched up in confusion. "Daddy~" she cooed sweetly.

Silence. Then his tone softened. "Nina, what's up, sweetheart?"

"Tomorrow is my birthday! Did you get my swan cake? I want a swan cake!"

Norman chuckled and made a promise, he'd pick her up from school and celebrate with her.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that once he came home, we could finally have a real conversation.

The next day, I prepared a feast, every dish his favorite. But as the clock ticked on, he never showed. And worse, he never brought Nina home.

I called him. Once. Twice. A dozen times. Every call went straight to voicemail. A sick feeling coiled in my stomach.

Desperate, I rang his assistant. There was a long pause before he finally admitted the truth:

Norman never picked up Nina.

Instead, he was at Cindy's.

Because it was her birthday, too.

Panic surged through me. My hands shook as I grabbed my car keys and raced to the school.

But when I got there,

No Nina.

Like a madwoman, I searched every inch of the school grounds, calling her name over and over again. The crowd had long since dispersed, the gates eerily empty.

Terror clawed at my chest. With trembling fingers, I dialed Norman again, my breath ragged.

Voicemail.

Again.

And again.

And again.

At the police station, they pulled up the school's surveillance footage.

I watched in horror as my daughter stood at the gate, tiny hands clutching her backpack, eyes scanning the crowd for a father who never came.

Minutes passed.

Then a black car pulled up.

A stranger rolled down the window, speaking to her.

She hesitated, then nodded.

And climbed inside.

My blood turned to ice.

"That's not my husband's car. I don't know that driver. Please… please help me find her!" I pleaded, my voice breaking as I collapsed to my knees.

The officers reassured me, promising they'd do everything they could.

Meanwhile, I kept calling. Kept texting. Begging Norman to call me back.

Nothing.

Not a single response.

And in that moment, as I sat in that cold, sterile police station, I realized the awful truth:

To Norman, our daughter meant nothing.

Not compared to Cindy.

I thought back to the way Nina used to call him Daddy with such joy, how he used to beam with pride, showing her off to everyone, carrying her on his back, spoiling her like a little princess.

I thought he loved her.

I truly believed he did.

But today, I learned the truth.

That love was never real.

Not compared to her.