I pressed a long kiss to her cheek. If she couldn't feel her father's love, then I'd give her all of mine. So I celebrated her birthday alone with her. In the candlelight, she lowered her head and made a wish. I didn't ask what it was. But I knew she wished her father would love her. That night, we didn't mention Nate again. Once she fell asleep, I picked up my phone, out of habit, and scrolled through Instagram. There it was-Selena's new post. [It's my birthday today. I received the best gift.] The picture showed a man on one knee, holding out flowers and a ring. I couldn't see his full face, but I knew it was Nate. And the ring… it was the custom piece he had made in France. I had once told him I liked it, naively asked if it could be mine. He refused. Now, he had given it to the woman he loved. A proposal, no doubt. To him, Selena was the real wife. His daughter and Selena had the same birthday. Yet he chose to be with the woman he loved, leaving his daughter behind. At that moment, whatever hope I had left for him vanished completely. Pain stabbed through my chest, again and again. I pressed my fists hard against my heart, trying to ease it, trying to breathe. It took a long time for that pain to quiet into stillness. I deleted Selena from my contacts. The next morning, the sound of the front door woke me. I took out the divorce papers I had prepared, walked downstairs. There was Nate, standing by the dining table, staring at the leftover cake. My heart felt calm-unnaturally calm. He heard my footsteps and looked up. "I worked too late last night. I forgot." I gave a cold, hollow laugh. I had called him. Texted him endlessly. He didn't hear? Didn't see? No. He was just too busy holding another woman. Everything else could be ignored. I flipped the divorce papers to the last page, laid them flat on the table, and pointed to the signature line. "Sign it."