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Then came the moment I had been waiting for.
I stood at my ex-wife’s door, my daughter’s small hand in mine. Her bag was packed for our first official weekend together. My ex stood there, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected. But I saw it—the exhaustion, the defeat in her eyes.
I smiled, slow and satisfied.
“You were wrong,” I said. “You said I’d never see her again. Looks like I’ll be seeing her a lot.”
Her face hardened, her lips pressed tight, but she didn’t say a word. I gave her one last look, then turned, leading my daughter away.
As I buckled my little girl into the car, she beamed at me. “I love you, Daddy.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed her forehead. “I love you more, sweetheart.”
Then, I got in, shut the door, and drove away, finally free.
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