The Forgotten Child

My dad wanted a divorce due to Mom’s cheating. They fought hardest over who’d keep me. Though he’d married into her wealth, he took a job to seek custody. Leaving on a trip, he begged Mom to care for me, his five-year-old. Once he left, she called her lover and went to cook for his cat. She left me with only instant ramen and bottled water. Five days later, feverish, I took the wrong medicine. My heart beat unevenly. I called Mom, gasping, “I’m sick… took wrong medicine. I think I’m dying.” Her voice was groggy and annoyed. “Like your father—a liar. I’ll be back in days. Just sleep.” Nauseous, I pleaded, “Mommy, please, I really—” The phone clattered as she tossed it. A man’s voice asked, “Your kid says he’s dying. Not scared?” Casually, she replied, “Don’t believe him. Honestly, his death would solve problems. He’s why our divorce drags on.” I recalled Dad’s breakdowns over her cheating. He was right: only my death would free him. … With my last ounce of strength, I crawled into bed and grabbed the family photo from the nightstand. I held it close, tucked under the covers. In the photo, Dad is kissing my cheek, his face beaming. Mom is looking at us both with so much love. Dad told me this picture was from when I was two. That was before her first love came back into her life. Back then, all her love was here, in this home. He came back when I was three. After that, the way she looked at me and Dad was distant, distracted. But she always said she loved me. That I was the continuation of her life. Especially after the doctors told her an old injury meant she could never have another child. I was her only one, her everything. Even when Dad offered to walk away with nothing, asking only for custody of me and offering her full visitation rights, she refused. My tears fell like fat raindrops onto his picture. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A crushing weight settled on my chest, and I whispered with my final breath: “Goodbye, Daddy.” As my eyes closed, I saw him again, kneeling in front of my mother. “I’m begging you! Just give me the boy!” “You don’t love us. Stop torturing us.” He was sobbing, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Her face was a mask of impatience. “What do you mean I don’t love you?” “You’re the one who can’t appreciate a good thing when you have it!” “If you really loved our son, you’d want him to have a complete family!” “He is my son. I will never give him to you!” Dad’s despair turned to rage. He scrambled to his feet. “You love him? You love our son? Bullshit!” He hated it most when she claimed to love me when her actions showed anything but. He, who was always so gentle, had started screaming in their fights. He brought up every old wound, every single one of her failings. “You love him? He was hospitalized with pneumonia for a week, and you never even showed your face! Where were you? You were in the Arctic, watching polar bears with your lover!” “And you didn’t just not come back, you took every penny we had and spent it on that man!” “You always wanted to know where the money for Leo’s hospital bills came from, didn’t you?” “I’ll tell you! I sold myself! I spent six hours with some old woman so I could pay for our son’s treatment! Are you happy now?!” “I hate you! I hate that you don’t love him but you keep pretending you do!” “I’ve raised him since he was born. Why don’t I have the right to take him with me?” That was the day I understood why Dad always took such long showers. The sound of the water covered the sound of his crying. I would always ask him why his eyes were red, and he would always smile and say I was imagining things. I had begged her, too, hoping to stop his pain. “Mommy, please say sorry to Daddy. Please don’t make him cry anymore.” Her expression soured. She scooped me up, wiping my tears with a rough hand. “Stop being so dramatic, you’re scaring him!” she snapped at my dad. “I’ll say this one last time. Give me custody, and I’ll sign the divorce papers right now. Otherwise, we stay like this. Stop making our lives a living hell over every little thing.” Dad wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed her arm, desperate. “Jessica!” “You say you love our son. What have you ever done for him?” “You cook for your lover’s cat, but has our son, your five-year-old son, ever had a single meal that you’ve made?” “You even stole the birthday money I was saving for him to buy cat food for that man’s cat!” “You buy that man clothes, gifts, you even buy clothes for his damn cat. Has our son ever worn a single thing you bought for him?” These scenes played out every few days. And every time, Mom would just shut down, sighing impatiently. “Go on, throw your fit. No one is listening.” Every argument ended the same way: with my dad screaming into a void, a one-man tragedy. I had tried, too, crying my own eyes out, whispering to her in secret. “Please divorce Dad. He has to take pills just to sleep now.” “He’s always sick, and he never eats. He’s in so much pain.” “Mommy, even if I live with Daddy, I’ll still love you.” “Please, Mommy. Just let me go with him.” Her eyes would turn red, but she would blink back the tears, her large hand gently stroking my cheek. “Your father is just throwing a tantrum,” she’d coo. “Mommy can’t bear to let you go with him. He married into our family. How could he possibly support you?” “We’ll always be a family, okay?” Dad heard that. The truth was, Dad had always worked, but it was at my grandpa’s company. Grandpa watched him like a hawk and only paid him a pittance. Last year, Grandpa drove the company into bankruptcy and couldn’t handle the failure; he jumped from a building. Mom was living off her savings, so Dad stayed home to take care of me. But now, to win custody, he had immediately found a new job. He would cup my face in his hands, his eyes shining with a desperate hope. “Leo, son, just wait until Dad’s job is stable. Then I’ll file for divorce.” “Once I have a steady income, the court will have to give you to me.” “Just give me a little more time, okay?” And every time, I would smile and tell him he could do it. I’d overheard the adults talking. Before I was born, my dad had been a brilliant man, full of talent and promise. After they married, he gave it all up to take care of me and Mom, content to be a nobody at Grandpa’s company. In my memory, he was always busy, from sunrise to sunset. He cooked every meal. He took care of my sick grandparents. Any spare moment he had, he spent reading me stories or playing with me. I often saw him so tired he could barely stand. After he got the new job, he was gone before I woke up and came home long after I was asleep. It only gave Mom another reason to complain. “You’re neglecting your family for some stupid job!” He was done fighting. He just focused on his work, on earning that steady paycheck he needed to take her to court. Mom, of course, didn’t change at all. When she was in a good mood, she might pick me up for a few minutes before putting me down to giggle at her phone, texting that man. She’d kiss my cheek and say, “I just love my big boy so much.” I couldn’t remember any other warm moments with her. Mostly, I just remembered her screaming at Dad about the divorce, smashing things, and me wailing in a corner, terrified. But it was okay now. I was dead. They wouldn’t have to fight over me anymore. Dad came home that night. My soul lingered in the house, a silent observer. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s home!” He was dusty from travel, pulling his suitcase behind him. In his other hand, he held a new capybara toy and a bag of my favorite snacks. I ran to him instinctively, wanting a hug, but my arms passed right through him. My transparent spirit drifted through his body. I remembered then. I was already dead. Dad looked around at the messy living room, at the ramen wrappers and empty water bottles littering the floor. The air was stale and smelled sour. He was a neat freak. He fanned the air in front of his nose and set down his suitcase, walking further into the house. “Leo? Leo, Daddy’s home,” he called out, looking around. He muttered to himself, “It’s only been a few days, and this place is a pigsty. What kind of mother is she? And she thinks she can fight me for custody?” I floated beside him, reaching out to take his hand. Just like when I was alive, when his big hand would swallow mine as we walked. Only now, I couldn’t feel its warmth. I looked up at his face. “Daddy, I’m dead now.” “You can divorce Mommy.” “You don’t have to fight with her anymore.” He couldn’t hear me. He went to the bedroom, still looking for me. And then he saw my small form, lying in the bed. A happy smile spread across his face. He tiptoed over, his eyes soft with love. He watched me for a long moment, then blew a gentle kiss in my direction, careful not to wake me. My nose stung, and tears fell like broken pearls. I cried and hugged his legs. I knew with absolute certainty that he was the only person in the world who truly loved me. And I loved him most of all. I wanted him to be free, but I was terrified that finding me dead would break him completely. In that moment, I finally understood what he meant when he used to say, “You’re my only weakness.” Back then, I would tell him to stay away from Mom, thinking naively that if he did, he wouldn’t be sad, that he’d be able to sleep at night. He would just hold me tight and say, over and over, “Daddy will get you out of here. I will never leave my baby boy.” But Daddy, I’m sorry. I left you. He quietly closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom, the room furthest from mine, to call Mom. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. He covered his mouth, his voice a furious whisper. “Where the hell have you been?” “Were you with him again?” “Jessica, you are so heartless!” “How could you leave our son home alone?” He was trying so hard to keep his voice down, but his face was red with rage. Mom’s voice was, as always, annoyed. “I have my own life, you know!” “Stop looking for reasons to start a fight!” “Leo is five years old. He’s a good boy. He can be alone!” “If you can’t stand it, then quit your job and come back to take care of him yourself!” Beep. She hung up. Dad furiously redialed, but she had turned her phone off. Tears of rage welled in his eyes. He clutched his chest, wiping his face again and again. A choked sob escaped him, twisting his features in pain. I held him, my transparent arms wrapped around him, whispering, “Daddy, don’t cry. You can leave her now.” His shoulders shook in my ghostly embrace. Finally, his eyes red and swollen, he started cleaning the house. Just like he always did, quietly picking up the pieces. And just like I always did, I followed him around like a little shadow. When the house was clean, he opened the fridge and found it empty. He was about to figure out what to cook for me when his boss called. He needed a proposal drafted, immediately. Dad dropped everything, sat at the living room table, and opened his laptop. I rested my chin on the table, watching him work. A moment later, his phone rang again. It was Grandma. “How long are you going to waste your life on her?” “It’s not like you can’t have other children. Just give her Leo and get the divorce over with!” I’d heard these words so many times I could recite them myself. As always, Dad’s voice was firm. “This is my business. Don’t worry about it. I am not giving her Leo.” Grandma’s voice rose. “You think I want to worry? That heartless Jessica, she mortgaged the house you live in! She bought that lover of hers a luxury car!” “That man came to show it off to your father and me. Your father got so angry he had a heart attack!” “He’s been in the hospital for five days! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!” The news hit Dad like a physical blow. He never imagined she would be so cruel. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and he weakly patted it with his hand. After a few minutes, he picked up his phone and called a woman. “I can be your lover. But I want a divorce, and you have to help me get custody of my son.” The woman on the other end laughed and readily agreed. I remembered her. She was ten years older than my dad. My dad, who was so clean and proud, how could he be with someone he didn’t love, just for me? I stomped my ghostly feet. “Daddy, I’m dead! Just go look in the room!” “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do anymore.” Dad sat in a daze for a long time. His phone vibrated again. It was his boss, summoning him to the office for an emergency meeting. He hadn’t eaten all day, and his stomach ached with hunger. He only had time to swallow half a glass of water. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed out the door, calling Mom one last time. “I’m going to the office. You get your ass home and watch Leo right now.” “If I get back and he’s still alone, I swear I will go find that man and I will make you regret it.”