After the Divorce, I Only Need My Daughter

When every other guy his age was chasing fresh-faced college girls and dating women barely out of their teens, Reginald Matthews claimed he'd fallen for me at first sight.

Me. A divorced single mother.

He showed up at my breakfast burrito cart every morning, a whole crew of his buddies in tow, buying enough to keep me in business. He pulled all-nighters helping me fight my divorce case, battling my ex-husband for custody of my daughter. He even swore that he'd chase me for the rest of his life if he had to, and that as long as I didn't say yes, he'd never cross a single line.

Then came the school sports day at my daughter's school.

Moira Walker tugged at the hem of my shirt, her little face bright with hope.

"Mommy, can Uncle Reggie come?"

"I want him to be my new daddy."

That was the moment I knew my own heart. I was ready to give Reginald an answer.

I followed the location he'd tagged on his Instagram story and found the bar.

And heard him and his buddies, loose-tongued and drunk, talking about me like I was a piece of merchandise.

"You were so pissed when Fiona Lawson dumped you for that older guy."

"So to get back at her, you went and found yourself an older woman, following her around like a lost puppy every day."

"Now that little brat of hers is calling you Daddy. Don't tell me you actually fell for your own act?"

My hand froze on the door. I thought I must have heard wrong.

Then Reginald's voice cut through, unmistakable.

It dragged me back to reality and sent my heart plunging into ice water.

"Like they say, fresh paper pairs with fresh paper, and old newspaper pairs with old newspaper. You think she's in my league?"

His friends relaxed instantly, laughing.

"Exactly. A used-up woman like Hailey Walker? She's lucky if she lands some divorced deadbeat who smacks her around. She actually thought she had a shot with Reggie?"

"You guys haven't seen it. If he accidentally brushes against her, he's so disgusted he goes back to the dorm and showers three or four times."

"Honestly, it worked though. Fiona totally bought the act. She just got back to the country and already sent us to feel things out."

"I told her the truth about everything. She's on her way here right now."

I thought about Reginald skipping class to come stand beside me at the cart, baking under the blazing sun until his skin turned red and started to peel.

How he'd just wipe the sweat away like it was nothing and keep fumbling along, trying to learn how to fold a breakfast burrito with his clumsy hands.

How once, when my spatula accidentally grazed the back of his hand, he'd yanked it away like he'd been shocked. His ears flushed scarlet. He turned his head and couldn't look at me.

I'd laughed and called him sweet. Innocent. I thought he was being careful with me, that he treasured me.

Turns out it was just his excuse for being repulsed.

A cold numbness spread through my chest. I stood frozen in place.

A perky voice chirped behind me.

"Are you the waitress bringing drinks to this room? Why are you just standing there?"

The girl brushed past me, pushed the door open, let out a squeal, and threw herself into Reginald's arms.

She clung to him like a koala, legs wrapped around him.

"Long time no see! Did you miss me?"

Reginald's expression went stony, but she wasn't the least bit intimidated.

She leaned in and nuzzled the tip of his nose.

"Still acting like a little kid who can't hide his feelings. So grumpy all the time." She giggled. "How are you ever going to get a girlfriend like this?"

I stared, numb, at the same man who recoiled from the slightest touch of my skin.

Now his arms moved on instinct, years of habit taking over. He caught her effortlessly, his forearms flexing to support her full weight beneath her thighs.

His face darkened further. He let out a cold scoff but didn't let go.

"We broke up, Fiona. What I do is none of your business anymore."

"You're the one who likes older, mature men. Don't expect me to turn into one of them."

The light caught her face.

And I realized I'd seen it before.

One year ago. The night I caught her tangled in the sheets with my then-husband, Alvin James.

Every drop of warmth drained from my body. The room tilted, my vision swimming, and I nearly collapsed right there on the floor.

Only then did Reginald notice me. A flash of panic crossed his eyes before he forced his expression into something casual.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have the cart to run today?"

Before I could speak, Fiona slid off his lap.

She acted like she didn't recognize me, sticking out her tongue in a cutesy little apology.

"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize you knew Reggie. I thought you were a waitress."

Reginald frowned and instinctively turned to me. "That's just how Fiona is. She says whatever's on her mind. She doesn't mean anything by it."

"Don't take it personally."

The same people who'd been tearing me apart seconds ago burst into jeering laughter.

"Oh, the second the main girl walks in, Reggie can't help himselfalready jumping to her defense!"

"Like that old hag would dare take it personally? Calling her ma'am is generous. She looks more like a grandma!"

"Who cares about her? She's useless to Reggie now anyway. Come on, raise your glasseshere's to Reggie finally shaking off that secondhand woman and her little bastard kid!"

Each word hit like a fist to the skull. I drew in a long, shaking breath.

While they were still gaping, I closed the distance in two strides.

I swung with everything I had and slapped the man so hard his head snapped to the side.

"Keep my daughter's name out of your filthy mouth. Call her that one more time, and I will rip your jaw off."

Outside the bar, the night air hit my face like cold water.

That was when I realized my whole body was shaking.

My hand found the thin card in my pocket and squeezed. The paper edge bit into my palm, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

It was the invitation Moira had made by hand.

Three stick figures drawn in crayon, holding hands in a row. Like a real family.

But the one labeled with Reginald's name was smeared now, blurred beyond recognition by the blood seeping from my palm.

For a moment I just stood there, numb, before the tears caught up to me.

The wind dried them on my cheeks. My skin pulled tight, stinging.

I'd met Reginald at the lowest point of my life.

I was fighting Alvin in a brutal divorce, left the marriage with nothing, scrambling to keep my head above water. At the same time, I'd dusted off my parents' old trade and started selling breakfast burritos from a street cartanything to cover Moira's tuition and keep food on the table.

The very first morning I set out, the cart's tire blew on the way there.

I crouched on the curb for what felt like forever, hands black with grease, and the tire stayed flat.

But if I didn't set up that day, Moira and I wouldn't eat.

Then I heard her stomach growl. She pressed her little hand against it and whispered, "I'm not hungry, Mommy. My tummy's just being weird."

That broke me. I dropped to the ground right there on the sidewalk and sobbed, smearing grease across my face when I tried to wipe the tears.

That was when Reginald appeared.

He ran three blocks to borrow a pump, then got down on his hands and knees to inflate the tire. Black grease smeared across his white T-shirt, and he didn't care. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and grinned up at me. "All set. Give it a try."

He pushed the cart all the way to the night market and didn't leave until the stand was set up.

After that, he started showing up every day with a handful of friends, claiming they were there to drum up business. When they teased him about having a crush on me, I laughed it off as a joke. But his ears turned red all the way down to his neck.

"Would that would that be okay?" he stammered.

Moira wanted nothing to do with him at first. She wouldn't even give him a second word.

One afternoon I was swamped at the cart and missed the call that school had let out early. It was Reginald who sprinted through the pouring rain, searching more than a dozen streets until he found my lost little girl.

After that, Moira finally let him in.

And now I had to tell her the truthtell a child who'd only just begun to trust again that none of it was real.

I stumbled back to the apartment in a daze. It was already the dead of night.

My daughter had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for me to come home.

My heart ached so badly it nearly crumbled. I was about to carry her back to her room when I realized her whole body was burning up, her little face flushed scarlet with fever.

I rushed her to the hospital by cab. It wasn't until the next morning that her temperature finally started to come down.

The doctor fixed me with a stern look. "This child had a fever for half the night before you thought to bring her in. A few more hours and she would've been severely dehydrated. Pills wouldn't have fixed that."

Guilt and fear gnawed at me. I hadn't slept all night and didn't dare close my eyes, staying glued to the chair beside her hospital bed.

Then I remembered the phone watch I'd bought her. I opened the companion app and checked the call log.

Over a dozen missed calls.

Every single one to Reginald.

He was the one who'd insisted on being listed as her emergency contact. He'd looked me in the eye and sworn, "I'll always be there for Moira. You can count on me."

And this was what that promise was worth.

A friend request notification popped up on my phone. No message attached. I recognized the sender from her latest Instagram story.

Fiona.

She'd posted a live photo of herself pouting, pressing a kiss to Reginald's cheek. In the background, clothes were scattered across the floor beside a sheet stained with smudges and water marks. When I tapped the photo, her coy, breathy voice filled my ears.

"Your phone's been ringing nonstop since we started. You're really not going to answer?"

Reginald's voice came through low and husky. "Nothing in the world is more important than you."

My vision went black. I couldn't bear to imagine itevery ring of every call my daughter made had been nothing but background music to their little performance.

Reginald didn't show up until that afternoon, dragging Fiona along with him.

He looked frantic. His voice dripped with guilt.

"How's Moira? This is all my fault. My phone was off last nightI never got the calls."

"You've been up all night. You must be exhausted. Go get some rest. Fiona and I can watch her."

But whether he truly never got those calls or chose to ignore themI knew the answer better than he did.

My daughter was my bottom line.

I looked at Reginald, and whatever softness he'd managed to coax out of me was gone. Every wall snapped back into place, every thorn pointed outward. My voice came out cold as steel.

"No need. My daughter is mine to take care of."

"We're done."

I've always been a woman of my word.

When I said it was over with Reginald, I meant it. I blocked his number, his social mediaevery way he had of reaching me.

He resorted to showing up at my cart to buy breakfast burritos just to get a chance to talk.

The morning crowd pressed in on all sides. He opened his mouth, struggled, his face reddening.

"Fiona and Iit's not what you think."

I didn't look up. I finished making his order and held it out to him.

"What does that have to do with me?"

He stood there, frozen, for several seconds.

The color drained from his face, then flooded back in a mottled, livid flush. He never came to the cart again.

Instead, he paraded around campus with Fiona on his arm for all to see.

Everyone said I'd been dumpedthat the secondhand goods had finally been thrown away. And because I was a divorced single mother who happened to be pretty, every creep in the area suddenly thought I was fair game.

One morning, a heavyset man with a bloated face leaned over the counter, pretending to buy a burrito. His thick fingers reached out and stroked the back of my hand.

I slapped his hand away. My expression turned to ice.

"If you're not here to buy food, move."

My voice carried. Every head in the crowd turned.

The man's face swelled an ugly shade of purple, humiliated in front of everyone.

"Stuck-up bitch. Someone offers you a little attention and you spit in their face?"

"You're damaged goods that's already been passed around. What's the big deal if I cop a feel?"

He grabbed the edge of my cart and flipped it.

The crash of metal slamming into pavement exploded in my ears. The scalding griddle smashed against my forearm.

White-hot pain shot through me, instant and blinding, like the skin was being ripped clean off the bone.

The crowd kept growing, every last one of them gawking and whispering about me.

The fat-faced thug's insults grew louder, more vicious, flecks of his spit landing on my face.

"Didn't Reginald used to chase after you? Treated you like a princess, put you on a pedestal? So what happened? He got tired of you already?"

"Bet he slept with you once and realized a woman who's already popped out a kid can't compete with a tight young thing, huh?"

"Who knows, maybe the real reason you divorced your ex-husband is because you were sleeping around. That brat of yours is probably some other man's bastard!"

Every word filthier than the last.

A ringing filled my ears. Everything went red.

By the time I came back to myself, the spatula had already swung in a full arc and cracked across his mouth.

Once.

Twice.

A patrol officer rushed over and pulled me off him, hauling both of us down to the station.

The thug's lips were split and swollen, blood running down his chin. Two of his front teeth were gone.

The female officer handling my statement was sympathetic, but she could only do her job.

"Ms. Walker, the other party's injuries have been classified as minor assault, and he's refusing to sign a settlement agreement."

"You're looking at five days of detention and a five-hundred-dollar fine."

Five days?

But Moira's school sports day was in three days.

She already didn't have a father by her side. I couldn't be absent too.

I drew a deep breath and started dialing the number I once knew by heart.

The door swung open before the call connected.

I hung up. Reginald hurried in.

When he saw me sitting on the bench in one piece, the tension drained from his shoulders.

"I'll post her bail. I'm covering the deposit."

Outside the station, I thanked him properly.

"Thank you. I'll transfer the deposit back to you as soon as I get home."

Reginald looked at me, speechless for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

"Your arm needs to be treated too. Let me take you to the hospital first."

The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang.

Fiona's voice came through, teary and sweet, dripping with helplessness.

"Reggie, my little nephew got bullied at school."

"His parents are out of town on business. Can you come stand up for us? Please?"

Just like that, Reginald forgot about me and my blood-soaked arm. He jumped in his car and sped off.

The exhaust fumes hit me so hard I couldn't stop coughing.

I pulled my gaze back in silence, figuring I'd find a pharmacy for some burn cream and bandages.

My phone rang.

The teacher's voice on the other end was stern.

"Is this Moira Walker's parent?"

"Moira's been involved in an incident at school. We need you to come in."

I didn't even have time to treat my wound. I rushed straight to the school.

When I pushed open the office door, my daughter was standing alone in the corner.

Across from her, a little boy was being cradled like a treasure, shielded on all sides.

He poked his head out and spat at my daughter, pulling a face.

"Nyeh nyeh nyeh, you don't have a daddy! You're a bastard!"

"Your mom's a used-up tramp nobody wants, and when you grow up, you'll be a little tramp too!"

The air left my lungs. I pulled Moira into my arms and pressed my hands over her ears.

I was about to ask what kind of parents raised a child to talk like that.

Then I looked up and met Reginald's eyes.

The expression on his face was complicated.

That was when I saw clearly who was shielding that little boy.

It wasn't strangers.

It was Reginald and Fiona.

Fiona pulled the boy closer, her voice trembling with practiced grievance.

"Hailey, if you resent me for accidentally calling you 'ma'am' that one time, or for stealing Reggie away from you, I'll apologize. Go ahead, hit me, yell at me, I can take it."

"But if you're angry, come at me. How could you put your own daughter up to attacking my nephew?"

The resolve in my daughter's expression wavered.

She trembled in my arms, her small fingers clutching the front of my shirt as she looked toward Reginald.

"Uncle Reggie, do you think it's my fault too?"

Reginald was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

"No matter what happened, hitting someone is still wrong."

"You heard him, Moira. Now hurry up and apologize to Tyler."

"Why should she apologize?"

I pulled my daughter closer, firing back immediately.

"Wasn't he the one who started it by calling her names?"

"Calling her a bastard and her mother trash he deserved to get hit!"

At that, Fiona pinched the little boy hard.

Tyler burst into wailing sobs, and Fiona's own eyes reddened on cue.

"Tyler's parents are overseas all year round. I've been the one raising him since he was little. Even a scraped knee breaks my heart."

She pulled up the boy's sleeve, shoving a ghastly purple bruise right under Reginald's nose.

"Now he's been beaten like this, and I can't even get a basic apology for him. How can I face him when he calls me Auntie?"

Reginald didn't hesitate any longer. He turned to the teacher.

"If Moira refuses to apologize, we're requesting that this be handled formally."

"If a student can assault another child and face zero consequences, every other kid in this school will think that's acceptable."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you threatening me?"

Reginald couldn't meet my eyes. His voice softened.

"Hailey, you were nearly detained today for hitting someone. Do you really want Moira following in those footsteps?"

"It's just an apology. I promise no one will say those things to her again."

Moira lifted her head from my arms. Her voice was small, but every word was clear.

"Mommy, if I say sorry, will they stop making things hard for you?"

My eyes burned. I swallowed the ache in my throat and stroked her hair.

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Go wait for me outside, okay? Mommy will come get you soon."

I walked her to the door and closed it behind her.

She must have sensed what I was about to do. Her fists pounded against the door, and she started crying, calling for me.

The bridge of my nose stung. My throat clenched so tight it hurt.

I was stubborn by nature. Proud my whole life. I had never once bowed my head or backed down.

When my parents tried to guilt me with everything they'd done for me, demanding I drop out of school and marry some middle-aged bachelor back home, I stole my own ID and birth certificate and cut them off for good.

When Alvin used the threat of leaving me with nothing to keep me in line, expecting me to swallow his affair in silence, I filed for divorce on the spot and fought tooth and nail to win custody of my daughter.

But now, under Fiona's gaze the triumph she could barely contain

I bent. Inch by inch.

My eyes throbbed with pressure. I ground every last shred of humiliation and fury between my teeth and swallowed it whole.

Just as I was about to force that apology through my clenched jaw

A voice came from behind me. Familiar. Cold as steel.

"She doesn't need to apologize."

Alvin James stood in the doorway, tailored suit sharp against the cramped little office like he'd walked in from another world entirely.

He led Moira inside by the hand. He didn't spare a single glance at Fiona, whose eyes had already lit up at the sight of him.

His gaze landed on me, steady and burning, and he said it again.

"My wife doesn't owe anyone an apology."

Fiona's face twisted for a split second, the mask nearly cracking as a scream clawed its way up her throat.

Her eyes fixed on me, venomous. "She's your ex-wife. Is she really worth all this?"

"Moira refused to apologize. As her mother, shouldn't she take responsibility and apologize on Moira's behalf?"

"Her daughter hit my nephew it's all on the security cameras!"

Alvin looked at Fiona as though he'd only just noticed she was in the room.

Even though he and Fiona had once been intimate, he looked at her now like she was a stranger.

His voice was ice. "Since you brought it up, let's check the footage."

"Pull up everything. Let's see who started it and where those bruises really came from."

With Alvin's word, the security recordings from both the classroom and the office were retrieved in under ten minutes.

The footage was crystal clear. Fiona's nephew shoved Moira first.

Moira hit the wall and stayed there, head down, silent.

She didn't react until the boy's eyes darted sideways and he brought me into it.

"Is it because you're not really his kid? Is that why your dad dumped you?"

"Your mom's just used goods nobody wants! And she had you, you little bastard!"

Only then did Moira snap her head up, something inside her breaking loose.

She lunged at the boy and tackled him to the ground.

But before she could do anything else, the teacher rushed over and pulled them apart.

When Alvin's assistant moved to play the office footage next, Fiona's composure cracked. She grabbed the reluctant boy by the arm and dragged him in front of Moira.

Her apology dripped with rehearsed sincerity. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I was wrong to blame you."

"I'll have Tyler apologize right now. You're such a kind, generous girlyou'll forgive us, won't you?"

Guilt-tripping a child. Alvin's expression turned even colder.

He gave his assistant a nod. The footage kept playing.

It captured everything in sharp detail: Fiona deliberately pinching bruises into the boy's arm, fabricating evidence to frame Moira.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned on her. The looks were no longer sympathetic.

Fiona opened her mouth to explain, but the assistant cut her off without missing a beat.

"The harm you've caused Miss Walker and Mrs. James cannot be resolved with a flimsy apology."

"Please come with me. Our legal team will discuss the matter of compensation with you in detail."

The truth was out. The people who had been tormenting us minutes ago were escorted from the room.

Moira finally broke. She wrenched free of Alvin's hand and threw herself into my arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

"Mommy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Mommy, don't apologize for me, pleaseI'm sorry, Mommy..."

My nose burned. I held her tight, as tight as I could.

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who didn't realize you were miserable at this school."

"I'm the one who couldn't protect you. I should be apologizing to you."

After the divorce from Alvin, I lost the designer bags, the jewelry, all of it. Moving out of the mansion and into a tiny rental with Moira never bothered me.

But her school was different. Her school was the reason I dragged myself out of bed before dawn every single day to sell breakfast burritos until my hands cracked. Every dollar went toward keeping her enrolled.

I wanted her to have the best education money could buy.

What I forgot was that even the best school is still a miniature society.

Teachers and students alike adjust their treatment based on who your parents are.

When I was Mrs. James, Moira was the little princess everyone fawned over.

The moment I left the marriage with nothing and became a street vendor, her standing collapsed overnight.

The same teacher who had stood by while Moira was bullied was now drenched in cold sweat. He bowed and apologized, over and over.

Neither Moira nor I acknowledged him.

My mind was already working through the logistics of transferring her to a new school.

Alvin finally spoke. "Hailey. We need to talk."

I was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

I was about to follow him out when someone grabbed my sleeve and held on tight.

"Hailey, where are you going with him?"