Part 3I Pay Strangers to Be My Dad

"Did Callum…" Jacob Peters asked, his voice hoarse.

"He's dead," Mom and I said in unison.

Jacob seemed to put two and two together, following us straight into the dining room without another word.

As we stood around the cake, I started singing "Happy Birthday".

Just as Mom was about to blow out the candles, her phone buzzed with a notification. She froze instantly, her fingers trembling as she tapped the screen.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced over. In an instant, the color drained from my face.

Winona had posted on Instagram again. Her caption read, "I love breaking things, but he doesn't mind at all. Instead, he just smiles and hands me more things to break."

The photo showed the trophies Mom and I won, shattered into a million pieces across the floor. Even the toys I cherished too much to play with were covered in ugly scribbles to look like monsters.

Another message popped up, this time from Dad. He sent a transfer for 50,000 dollars.

Mom clicked on the voice message, and the harsh, grating sound of objects smashing blasted through the speaker.

"Becky, there was a little accident with the trophies. Just take the money and buy Sarah a few more to replace them."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Dad didn't get it. Money could never buy our love.

Mom shut her eyes tightly. Then, she quickly took a screenshot and sent a voice message to our lawyer.

"Mr. Zane, here's the evidence of Callum's affair with Winona, along with his bank statements. I've submitted all the documents. Let's get this divorce moving as fast as possible."

Mom didn't reply to Dad for the rest of the night.

Dad, however, kept calling her nonstop, eventually switching to text messages.

"Becky, I'm sorry. It completely slipped my mind that it's your birthday today.

"Rebecca, why aren't you acknowledging the transfer? Are you throwing another tantrum?

"Are you ever going to drop this? The reporters came to interview Winnie, and she was utterly humiliated. Is that what you wanted to see?"

Mom stared at the text messages on her screen. For the first time, she didn't shed a single tear. She just calmly blocked his number.

Dad would never hear a word from Mom again.

There were three days left until our departure, and the city was hosting a parent-child race. Dad had promised me over and over that he'd be there to participate.

Holding Mom's hand tightly, I sat nervously in the staging area, waiting for our turn.

Five minutes passed, then half an hour. Dad never showed up.

All of a sudden, Mom's phone rang. It was Dad.

"An issue came up with a project, so I have to head into the office today. Tell Sarah I'll make it up to her for missing the race—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Mom hit the end call button and blocked the new number.

I forced a smile to comfort Mom, but then a familiar voice echoed from nearby.

"Daddy Callum, you're the best! With you by our side, we're definitely going to win!"

In an instant, my mind went completely blank. Turning my head, I saw Dad holding another little girl tightly in his arms.

I looked at Mom, bewildered. "Didn't Dad say he had to work?"

Mom sprang to her feet, ready to storm over and confront him, but I snatched her arm immediately, shaking my head. "Mom, the race is starting."

Left with no choice, Mom returned to the staging area.

This was a relay race. As long as I could complete my leg and pass the baton to Mom at the 200-meter mark, we'd win the championship.

The grand prize was an all-expenses-paid family vacation.

A glimmer of hope flickered in my eyes. The moment the starting gun fired, I sprinted forward with the baton, pouring every ounce of energy into my legs.

I breezed past 50 meters, 150 meters, then 190 meters.

Sweat soaked into my eyelashes as I extended my arm, desperate to hand the baton off to Mom.

In the next second, a sudden rush of wind blew past me, and a violent shove sent me crashing onto the track.