Kyle hasn’t contacted in weeks, but now he wants to pay me a visit on Father’s Day. I acquiesce, understanding that he wants likes rather than love. What doesn’t he know? Our daughter naively created a card that may have revealed the truth — and I’m letting it happen.
Since our divorce was finalized, Kyle has created what I can only characterize as a digital monument to his parenthood.
His Instagram is a carefully kept museum of past birthday cakes, old selfies with Emma, and remarks so lovely they make your teeth ache.
“Forever proud to be your dad,” he wrote last week above a photo of Emma on her sixth birthday.
She’s nine now.
But here’s the thing: social media against reality. While Kyle is busy collecting likes and heart-eye emojis from strangers who believe he is Father of the Year, he has ignored his actual obligations.
He hasn’t provided child support in half a year, and his canceled visits stack up like unopened mail.
It has been about a month since he last texted Emma.
Then, like clockwork, just days before Father’s Day, a message from Kyle popped up on my phone.
“Thinking of stopping by Sunday to see Emma for Father’s Day.”
I stared at the text for a whole minute. What a bold move! Six months of radio silence, then swooping in like a festive hero? I resisted the impulse to toss my phone across the room.
Instead, I responded, “Sure.” “Come by at 3.”
I knew I needed to prepare Emma. So that night, I sat next her as she worked on a puzzle and softly stated, “Sweetheart, your dad might be coming over for Father’s Day.”
“Really?” she inquired, cautiously hopeful, although her voice broke around the word.
I nodded and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “He texted.” He said he wanted to see you.
She stood up and searched her backpack.
She grabbed a slightly crumpled sheet of cardstock from one of the side pockets, half covered in crayon hearts and the other blank.
“We started making cards in school. “My teacher said we had to,” she explained quietly. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I wasn’t sure how to finish it. I’m not even sure whether I have a father anymore.
My heart broke right there.
I knelt in front of her and took her into my arms. “Oh, Baby. You’re not required to create a card if you don’t want to.”
She drew back and scrutinized my face, as if she were thinking hard.
And then that light, which I hadn’t seen in her eyes in weeks, flickered.
She smiled unexpectedly and added, “Actually…” “I know exactly what to do.”
She sat at the kitchen table, holding her markers and construction paper. She occasionally asked for help cutting out shapes and wiping up spilled glue, but I usually let her do it herself.
Then she carefully applied glue to the interior of the card before calling me over to assist her with the glitter.
We gently poured purple and blue glitter on the interior of the card. It wasn’t until we gently dusted off the excess that I realized what she had written there.
My breath seized in my throat, and my eyes welled with tears. I didn’t say anything, only threw my arms around her in a bear embrace.
This card was about to change everything.
Kyle’s vehicle entered the driveway at 2:58 p.m.
He stepped out as if he were arriving for a photograph. Before he even made it to the porch, a fog of cologne filled the air. His fashionable sunglasses sat on his head, he wore pressed khakis, and a gleaming present bag hung from his wrist.
But Kyle did not arrive alone.
A tall blonde wearing a sundress and stilettos followed him up to the front door. Her phone was already in her palm, poised like a red carpet reporter, waiting for the big shot.
I opened the door before they could make a knock.
“Hey,” Kyle said with a huge smile. “This is Ava, my girlfriend. She desperately wanted to meet Emma. “And you, of course.”
“There’s my girl!” Kyle opened his arms wide
Ava’s phone came up. She started recording, clearly angling for the perfect “Father’s Day surprise” reel. I could practically see the caption forming in her head: “When bae surprises his daughter 💕 #stepmom #blended family #love.”
Kyle turned up the charm then, really laying it on thick. “I brought you something special, sweetie. Thought you’d love this. Picked it out just for you.”
Kyle gave Emma the present bag with a flourish.
Emma peered inside and took out a stylish water bottle decorated with holographic stickers. The type of stuff that says, “I spent five minutes in Target’s impulse aisle.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, because I raised her to be courteous even when grownups act strangely.
I watched things develop from the kitchen doorway: Kyle smiling too big, Ava moving around like a director vying for a cinematography Oscar, and Emma trying to figure out why her father invited a stranger with a camera to what was supposed to be their time together.
But if Kyle wanted a stage, I’d gladly raise the curtain.
I called sweetly from the kitchen, “Emma, why don’t you show your dad what we made for him?”
“Oh yeah! I almost forgot!” She dashed off toward her room, leaving Kyle and Ava in the living room looking slightly confused.
Emma returned a minute later with her card and handed it to Kyle.
“A Father’s Day card from my special girl!” he said, turning to display it to the camera. “Let’s open it!”
I watched him flip the card open in front of the camera. His grin faded, and a perplexed frown appeared as the color drained from his face. Ava’s phone had dropped one inch.
“What the hell is this?” It says ‘Happy Father’s Day… to Mom!'” Kyle blinked as if someone had thrown cold water at him.
Open This, Too
Emma didn’t miss a beat.
“I made it for Mommy. She’s the one who helps with my homework, makes me dinner, goes to my school plays, and takes me to the doctor when I’m sick. That’s what being a parent is, right?”
The silence stretched like taffy until I chose to end it.
“Oh, and since you’re here,” I continued, taking out a manila folder from the kitchen drawer, “I printed a few things you might want to look at.”
I handed him a tidy stack of papers.
Kyle’s mouth fell as he thumbed through the missed child support spreadsheet I’d been keeping, court letters he’d disregarded, and a letter from my lawyer explaining next measures.
A tidy little bundle of reality, sorted and marked for easier reading.
Ava had been reading it over his shoulder, but suddenly she moved back, her voice keen with the rage that comes from being lied to.
“You told me everything was fine with your daughter. That you had joint custody and your ex was just being difficult.”
Kyle stammered, “I-uh… it’s complicated—”
“Complicated?” Ava’s voice pitched higher. “This says you haven’t paid child support in six months. That you’ve missed 12 scheduled visits. Twelve!”
I stepped aside and motioned toward the front door with the courteous animosity that takes years to master.
“I’m sure you’re both busy,” I responded with a slight smile. “And I do not want to ruin your day with facts. “Happy Father’s Day!”
Kyle shuffled to the door, Ava trailing after him. The car doors banged, the motor started, and they drove away, into whatever conflict awaited them.
Emma took up her card. Kyle must have dropped it when browsing through my small Father’s Day gift.
She looked up at me. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Baby. “You did everything correctly.”
We went to the kitchen, put on our matching aprons, and cooked chocolate chip cookies as if nothing had occurred.
I kissed her forehead, allowing that single sentence to sink in deeper than any trial victory or social media takedown ever could.
