On Sunday, Kyle arrived—polished, camera-ready, and with a new girlfriend filming the moment. He handed Emma a trendy water bottle while Ava recorded every move.
Emma stayed quiet until I gently prompted her: “Why don’t you show your dad the card you made?”
She brought it out proudly. Kyle opened it with a smile… which faded fast.
“Wait… this says, ‘Happy Father’s Day to Mom?’”
Emma nodded. “I made it for Mommy. She’s the one who’s here. She’s the one who tucks me in, helps with homework, and takes care of me. That’s what a parent does, right?”
Ava lowered her phone. Kyle stood speechless.
I handed him a folder—documentation of missed payments, court notices, and a letter from my attorney.
Ava glanced at it and turned to Kyle.
“You told me everything was fine. You said you had custody.”
“It’s complicated,” he muttered.
“You missed twelve visits,” she said sharply.
I saw them to the door.
“Wouldn’t want to keep you from your next post. Happy Father’s Day.”
Back inside, Emma asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart. You did everything right.”
We spent the rest of the day baking cookies, brushing glitter from our sleeves and pain from our hearts.
That night, as I tucked her in, she whispered, “You really are both my parents.”
I smiled through tears, knowing no photo, no post, no hashtag could ever compare to that kind of love.