The Lost Daddy

On the day of the autumn outing, the wind carried the scent of osmanthus as I held Maya and Coco's little hands, walking along the stone path in Verdant Park. The twin daughters, dressed in matching little yellow duck jackets, chattered and chased after butterflies. Seward Ray followed behind us, carrying the picnic blanket and a bag of snacks. This was a rare outing for our whole family; I had started preparing a week in advance. Maya suddenly stopped in her tracks and called me over, pointing at a nearby patch of daisies. I smiled and walked over, crouching down to fix her bangs, which had been tousled by the wind. Seward's phone rang; he glanced at the screen, his expression shifting subtly. "There's something going on at the company; I need to take this call." Without waiting for my reply, he turned and walked away. I didn't think much of it, assuming it was just a routine work matter. Coco tugged at my sleeve, begging me to stay with them as they picked daisies to weave flower crowns. Just as I turned to pick a white daisy, I heard Coco's desperate, heartbreaking cries. I looked back to see both Coco and Maya crouching on the ground, hands pressed to their cheeks, surrounded by buzzing bees. "Mom, it hurts..." Maya sobbed, her little face quickly swelling and reddening. My heart tightened as I rushed to hold them close. I knew both girls were allergic to bee stings, so I frantically reached for the antihistamine I always carry—only to find the bottle empty. I must have been too rushed when leaving and forgot to replenish it. I trembled as I took out my phone and called Seward; the cold voice said, "The line is busy now." Maya's breathing grew rapid, and her lips slowly turned purple. Holding the two children, I ran toward the entrance of Verdant Park, repeatedly dialing Seward's number as I ran. The phone was never answered. A passerby noticed something was wrong and helped me flag down a taxi. I rushed into the hospital emergency room holding the children; the doctor immediately began resuscitation. "Your children's allergic reaction is severe; we need to start a blood transfusion immediately and administer special medication." The doctor's voice struck me like a death knell, leaving me dazed. The resuscitation room light stayed on for what felt like forever. I sat on the bench in the corridor, kept calling Seward, but all I got was a busy signal. After who knows how long, the doctor came out, removed his mask, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, we did everything we could." Those words hit me like a heavy hammer, instantly draining every bit of strength from me. I slumped to the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably, but no sound escaped my lips. Maya and Coco, my two darlings, just left me like that. It wasn't until nightfall that Seward's call finally connected. "What is it? I'm busy right now." Impatience threaded through his voice. I looked at the tightly shut door of the resuscitation room and said slowly, word by word, "Seward, our daughters are gone." Silence stretched for a few seconds, then his dismissive voice came through: "Stop joking. I have things to do here. I'm hanging up." Despair washed over me like an unstoppable tide. At that moment, a twitter notification flashed on my phone. It was sent by Seward's assistant, Natalie Lester, along with a photo of her and Seward at the botanical garden. In the photo, Seward has his arm around her shoulder, and they're smiling intimately. The background is a stretch of tulips, separated from the Verdant Park where we are now by an entire city. So the urgent matter he mentioned at the company was just going on a date with his female assistant. My fingers twitched uncontrollably as I liked that twitter post. That like was my final farewell—to this marriage, to this man.