On the Day Our Daughter Died, My Wife Went to See Her Lover

My wife refused to answer our daughter's call to celebrate the birthday of her first love's son, which led to a tragic accident.

She forgot to pick our daughter up from school, and our daughter, returning home alone, was attacked by a criminal and ultimately took her own life.

On the day our daughter was found, my wife attended the sports event for her first love's son.

Now that our daughter is gone, I feel like I don't want my wife anymore.

When I received the call from the police station, I was in the middle of an important international meeting.

My phone in my pocket vibrated incessantly, and my heart raced in response.

I quickly found a moment to step out of the conference room and called back.

"Hello, are you a relative of Emma Johnson? She was robbed on her way home, and her condition is not very good. Please come to City Hospital No. 2 immediately!"

My mind exploded with shock.

Trembling, I dialed my wife Sophie's number, but there was no answer!

Normally, I would pick up Emma after her evening study session, but since I had a meeting that night, I had asked Sophie to do it instead.

She had absentmindedly agreed over the phone and then hung up. I had even reminded her via WhatsApp not to forget to pick up our child.

She had replied impatiently, "I know! I'll go after dinner."

I called her three times before she finally picked up.

Without waiting for me to speak, she snapped back irritably, "Can you stop calling me all the time? It's so annoying! I'll be back later."

In the distance, I could hear a man calling out, "Sophie, it's time to cut the cake for Max! Hurry up!"

The man was Sophie's first love, Ethan Hunter. Today was Ethan's son's birthday.

Sophie hadn't gone to pick up Emma!

Gritting my teeth, I demanded angrily, "Did you go get Emma like I asked you to? Did you pick her up?"

On the other end of the line, Sophie stammered, "I... I'll go right now."

I spoke slowly and deliberately into the phone, "Emma is at City Hospital No. 2. You better pray she's okay!"

When I arrived at the hospital, Emma was wheeled out of the operating room like a rag doll.

I stood there, helpless, and approached her, choking back tears as I said, "Emma, don't be afraid. Daddy's here."

Emma stared blankly at the ceiling, not responding to my words.

A police officer pulled me aside with a serious expression and said, "The child was attacked by several homeless men while trying to resist during a robbery. When we arrived, she had lost a lot of blood..."

I stepped back, covering my mouth in shock, my heart feeling like it was being sliced open with a knife.

The officer quietly advised me, "Since we found her, she hasn't spoken. You should try to comfort her; once she's feeling better, we can take her statement."

After the officer left, I stood at the door of Emma's room, unsure how to face her.

I opened my mouth to cry silently, pounding my chest with my fists in deep selfreproach.

Damn those international meetings and damn making money; if I hadn't been preoccupied with those things, Emma wouldn't have suffered tonight.

Perhaps hearing me hit myself, Emma called out from her room, "Daddy..."

I quickly wiped away my tears and took a deep breath before stepping inside.

Emma's face was as pale as paper. She lifted her hand and pointed at my phone. "Why didn't Mommy come to pick me up?"

My face stiffened; I didn't know how to answer that question.

Ever since Ethan and his son returned, Sophie had focused entirely on them, neglecting her own daughter Emma.

Once during a severe flu season, Emma had a high fever for several days without Sophie even asking about her; instead, Sophie spent days and nights with Max Hunter.

"She told me yesterday that today is Max's birthday. Did she go celebrate with him?" Emma asked softly.

I held her cold little hand and reassured her, "Emma, it's Daddy's fault. If Daddy hadn't gone to that meeting to pick you up..."

Emma looked at me with redrimmed eyes and asked, "Daddy, am I really Mommy's biological child? Ever since Max came back, Mommy only cares about him and doesn't ask about me..."

Emma felt that Sophie loved Max so much that it must be because she wasn't good enough herself. That's why she worked so hard in school every day, hoping Sophie would pay attention to her again.

This was the first time she had asked me such a question; disappointment in Sophie was written all over her face. My heart twisted painfully.

"What are you talking about? Why should it matter if I care for Max a bit more? His mother is abroad; shouldn't I take care of him? Why are you jealous?" Sophie shouted as she walked through the door.

I glanced at my phone; it was 1:30 AM—three hours since I had called her.

Ethan followed closely behind Sophie, carrying her handbag in one hand and a cake box in the other.

Emma looked at Sophie in disbelief and trembled as she said, "Mommy, do you know what happened to me tonight? If you had come to pick me up..."

Sophie scanned Emma from head to toe without concern and replied nonchalantly, "You look fine; what could have possibly happened?"

I immediately stepped up to Sophie and slapped her hard across the face.

"Smack!"

Ethan dropped the bags he was holding and reached out toward me. "How could you hit a woman?"

I kicked him out the door with a swift side kick.

Turning back to Emma, I soothed her gently. "You rest for now; Daddy will come back to see you later."

With that, I pushed the stunned Sophie out of the room.

Sophie snapped back to reality and immediately helped Ethan up, her face filled with concern.

I pointed toward the hospital entrance and said coldly, "I need to handle family matters now, so Ethan, please leave."

Ethan winced, holding his side, and replied, "Sophie, if you need anything, just call me. I'm leaving now."

Once Ethan was gone, Sophie quickly changed her demeanor and impatiently said to me, "You and Emma don't need to put on a show; she looks fine to me."

I pulled out the medical report from my pocket and tossed it at her, glaring fiercely. "Her neck is covered in bruises; can't you see that?"

"And she has multiple bruises on her back and stomach from being beaten badly—how can you say she's fine?" I cursed at her for the first time.

Sophie looked at the report again, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's impossible! It can't be true!"

I pointed at her forehead and hissed, "Sophie, I called you! I texted you to remind you to pick up Emma. And what did you do? You went to celebrate Max's birthday instead!"

My eyes were red with anger as I gripped her neck tightly, feeling like I could kill her.

Sophie desperately clawed at my hand, pleading softly, "I was wrong; it's my fault. I didn't mean for this to happen!"

I forcefully shoved her to the ground and kicked her hard. "Get lost! Just get the hell out of here!"

Sophie cried out in pain, clutching her stomach. Emma heard her from inside and shouted, "Dad, what's wrong with Mom?"

I quickly masked my anger and smiled as I entered the room. "It's nothing; your mom just bumped into a chair."

Emma looked worried. "Did it hurt? Mommy hates pain."

Outside the door, Sophie gently reassured Emma, "Emma, Mommy is fine..." But before she could finish, she broke down in tears.

Watching Emma anxiously smile back at me made my heart sink; she then lay down and said, "I want to sleep now; you both can go."

Something felt off; Emma's calmness was eerily unsettling.

I sat by Emma's bedside all night while Sophie slept on a chair outside.

When Emma woke up, she immediately asked for soup dumplings from the west side of the city and insisted that I go buy them.

I didn't want to leave her side for even a moment and suggested gently, "Why don't you let your mom go? Daddy is worried about you."

The hospital was an hour and a half round trip from the west side; I didn't trust Sophie to take care of Emma alone.

But Emma stubbornly shook her head. "No! I want you to buy them!"

With no other choice, I called Sophie into the room and instructed her to watch over Emma carefully and not leave her side for any reason.

After being beaten by me last night, Sophie seemed more compliant than usual and promised sweetly, "I won't leave her side for a second; just hurry back."

Before leaving, I placed my spare phone in the cabinet. "If anything happens, use this phone to call Daddy."

Emma nodded with wide eyes. "Daddy, hurry! I'm starving!"

I rushed to the parking lot and texted Sophie: [Emma's mood seems off; pay extra attention to her. Don't provoke her—stay close!]

Sophie assured me confidently: [Don't worry; Emma is my daughter too. I care about her.]

But when I returned with the soup dumplings, Emma was missing.

Sophie clutched her left cheek and glared at me angrily. "Kyle, it's not my fault she's missing! What good does hitting me do?"

I kicked toward her stomach in frustration. "I told you not to leave her side! What were you doing when she left the room?"

Sophie glanced nervously at her phone. I opened her call log—she had been on a thirtyminute call with Ethan.

I threw the phone at her face in rage. "If anything happens to Emma, you and Ethan will regret it for the rest of your lives!"

The phone hit Sophie's forehead hard enough to draw blood as I stormed out of the room without looking back.

Emma was found in the afternoon, or rather, she was pulled from the water.

I held her cold, stiff body and wept silently.

Sophie was sprawled over her, wailing, "Emma, my dear daughter, how could you do something so foolish?"

I frantically combed through her hair, pulling out the seaweed that clung to it, choking on my words as I said, "Emma, how could you leave Daddy behind? What am I supposed to do now that you're gone?"

In that moment, I wished I could just throw myself against something hard and end it all. If only I had gone to pick Emma up last night, none of this would have happened.

My child was about to take her college entrance exams next year. With her grades, she would surely get into a good school.

She would finally start the university life she had longed for; she would follow her dream of becoming a translator and get married and have children by the time she was 35.

But now, everything was gone. She had ended her life at such a young age.

I sat at the morgue entrance for an entire day and night. A police officer, unable to bear my grief any longer, handed me a bottle of water. "Kyle," he said gently, "we can't cremate your child until we catch the criminals..."

I stiffened and turned to him. "I know; there's still so much to do. I'll get my emotions in check."

I pointed to the evidence bag he held and quietly asked, "Can I have the phone inside? It's the one I left for Emma yesterday."

The officer immediately opened the bag and retrieved the phone. "No problem. There's a recording from your daughter on it; you might want to listen."

He patted my shoulder and sighed, "Take care."

I forced myself to drive home. As I looked around at all of Emma's little trinkets scattered throughout the house, I broke down again.

After forcing myself to eat a bowl of noodles, I picked up the charged phone with trembling hands and opened the recording.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Emma's voice came through with a quiver. "Please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I just don't have the courage to face my life anymore. Last night, I thought about a lot of things—I wanted you to send me abroad for school so I could restart my life there. But just now, I overheard Mom on the phone talking about how the homeless men who attacked me might have AIDS. Suddenly, I lost all will to live; I felt so dirty and disgusting."

"Daddy, please don't blame Mom; maybe this is just my fate. After I'm gone, please live well with Mom and have another baby. Take care of yourself—don't stay up late or smoke too much. If they find my body, scatter my ashes in the ocean; don't put up a gravestone—just pretend I never existed in this world. I love you, Daddy."

I knelt on the ground with my phone pressed against my chest, crying out in agony as tears streamed down my face. "Emma! My Emma! It's Daddy's fault..."

After curling up in Emma's room all night long, I forced myself to wash up and then called Sophie.

After Emma had been taken to the morgue, Sophie had answered a phone call and disappeared without returning.

The phone rang for quite a while before she finally picked up breathlessly. "What's going on? I'm with Max at his sports event."

A surge of indescribable anger almost snapped the fragile string of control in my mind.

In the mirror before me, veins bulged on my forehead and my eyes were bloodshot.

Seeing that I was silent, Sophie urged impatiently, "If you need something, just say it; the next event is about to start."

I clenched my fists and managed to restrain myself as I replied, "When you're done there, come back—I need to talk to you."

Before she could respond, I hung up abruptly.

If this conversation continued any longer, I feared I might lose control and run out to kill them all.

When Sophie returned in the afternoon, I looked at her slightly tipsy eyes with disgust.

She noticed my gaze and shrank back, nervously saying, "Max won first place, so I had a drink."

I struggled to contain my anger as I approached her. "What did you and Ethan talk about before Emma left? Where did you take that call?"

Sophie hesitated, confused. "In the bathroom of the hospital. Ethan was just concerned about Emma and asked a few questions."

I reached out for her phone. "Give it to me; I want to listen to your call recording."

Sophie instinctively hid her phone behind her back and sharply refused, "Ethan and I are just friends. What do you want to hear the recording for? Can you stop with your baseless suspicions?"

I slowly raised my hand, keeping my face cold and stern.

Fearing I might hit her, Sophie reluctantly handed over her phone.

I quickly pulled up the call log and hit play.