Chapter 5: Letting Go

With those comments always buzzing, I became more and more clear-headed. I started eating regular meals, stopped working overtime, and canceled Jenny’s credit card.

I dusted off my old bike, started eating oatmeal in the mornings, and even joined the guys from work for trivia night at the local bar—a first in years. The pressure eased from my chest, little by little. The world kept spinning, even if my family acted like I was nothing but a paycheck on legs.

As for Zoe, she found new ways to stay out late with her so-called boyfriend, and I just turned a blind eye.

Now that I wasn’t pouring all my energy into them, I looked better. Even the barista at the corner Starbucks noticed. “You finally look rested, Mr. Harper,” she said, handing me my black coffee one morning. For the first time, I actually tasted it, instead of just chugging it for the caffeine.

Zoe went from doubting whether I’d really stop caring, to gradually testing my limits. She did whatever she wanted—ice cream at midnight, junk food during her period, skipping class, ignoring homework.

She was supposed to take the SATs, but her grades dropped from top eleven in her year.

I watched her spiral from a distance—empty soda cans piling up in her room, crumpled SAT prep booklets gathering dust. The old me would’ve barged in, lecturing and cleaning up after her. Not anymore.

Finally, one day, Zoe’s homeroom teacher called, saying she’d caused a lot of trouble. I told the teacher to call Jenny.

Not long after, Jenny stormed into my office, righteous and indignant:

“The homeroom teacher called for a parent. Why didn’t you go?”

She stood in the doorway, arms folded, phone clutched like a weapon. Her voice echoed around the cubicles, my coworkers peeking over their screens.

I put down my work and raised an eyebrow. “She’s your daughter too. Every time there’s a parent-teacher meeting or Zoe gets in trouble, it’s always me at the school. No matter how busy I am, I have to go. You’re home every day—why can’t you go?”

Both Jenny and the chorus in my head were stunned:

Has the villain changed? Before, he’d rush to the school for every problem. Why’s he pushing it on the mom now?

No way! The heroine and her mom can’t handle the wolves at school. This is when the couple is supposed to make a scene, but the villain dad ruins it! No!

Only then did I realize: I was the villain in the novel who breaks up the main couple.

Jenny glared at me. “She’s your child too. If you hadn’t insisted on having a kid, would I have become a mother? Didn’t you always pride yourself on raising her? This is what your parenting produced? I don’t care. I’m not going. Whatever happens at school is none of my business.”

With that, Jenny turned and left.

I turned off my phone’s recording app and sneered.

Looks like this mother-daughter love is just for show. I’ve known Jenny is selfish—she only loves herself.

I didn’t want to go either, but the homeroom teacher kept calling. Since I still had some father-daughter ties to Zoe, I had to go.

I parked in the visitor spot out front—row of minivans, sunlight glinting off faded bumper stickers—and trudged into the guidance office like a man headed to sentencing.

Zoe was in the office. When she saw me, her eyes burned with resentment.

“Why are you here? Where’s my mom?”

She knew that no matter how badly she messed up, Jenny would never blame her, while I was always the bad guy, scolding and punishing her. At this point, Zoe saw me not as a father, but as an enemy.

I said, tired, “Do you really think your mom cares about you?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Then I don’t need you to care either.”

The homeroom teacher stepped in, frowning:

“Recently, Zoe has skipped class, gotten into fights, bullied other students, and even extorted money. More seriously, she’s in a relationship. The SATs are in a month. How can she get into a good college like this? She used to be top of the class—now she can’t even reach the minimum for state schools.”

The office smelled of burnt coffee and anxiety. The teacher’s voice was calm, but I saw her patience was shot—years of parents like us had left her tired.