This home was entirely in my name, a secure sanctuary I had built for me and my daughter with my own two hands.

Lily was now two years old, running around the house and learning to speak in babbling sentences. My parents would take the bus up to see their granddaughter whenever they had time, their hands full of vegetables and meat from their small farm.

The small apartment was always filled with laughter.

At 3:00 p.m. sharp on a Sunday afternoon, the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on a towel and opened the door.

Standing there was Daniel holding a wooden toy box. For two years, he had consistently come to see our daughter once a week as agreed.

Time seemed to leave different marks on people. While I had gained some healthy weight and my complexion had improved, Daniel had aged noticeably.

There were streaks of gray at his temples, and his attire was no longer the neatly ironed shirts and suits of the past, but a faded, worn-out jacket. I had heard that due to his past scandals, his career wasn’t going well.

I opened the door wide and politely invited him in.

“Come in. Lily’s playing with her blocks in the living room.”

Daniel entered meekly, wiping his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside. He walked over to Lily, crouched down on the floor, and took out the new toys he had brought.

Lily, not at all shy, happily took the wooden blocks and started building a house. Daniel watched his daughter with a gaze full of deep regret.

He turned to me as I was pouring him a glass of water and said hesitantly, “Jennifer, your new place is really nice. Thank you so much for the past two years. After all the terrible things I did, you could have stopped me from seeing Lily. You could have taught her to hate me, but you didn’t. You let me keep seeing her. I’m so grateful for your generosity.”

I placed the glass of water on the table and replied calmly.