A secret revealed on my wedding day: my wife has a daughter!
Sylvain, I didnt want to tell you this at your ceremony Anyway, did you know your brandnew bride already has a child? my coworker shouted, pinning me to the drivers seat.
What are you talking about? I tried to brush the news aside.
My wife, after seeing your Lucie at the wedding, whispered to me, Is it odd that the groom doesnt know his fiancées daughter lives in an orphanage?
Can you believe this, Sylvain? I nearly choked on my salad. My wife insists she personally dealt with the girls abandonment. My Lisa works as a doctor in a maternity ward. She recognized your Lucie because of a birthmark on her neck, and she also mentioned that Lucie had called her daughterChloé and given her her own surname. I think that was five years ago, my colleague observed my reaction with interest.
I sat frozen behind the wheel. What a bombshell! I decided to get to the bottom of it myself. I couldnt swallow such a story. I knew Lucie wasnt an eighteenyearold; she was thirtytwo when we married, so shed clearly had a life before me. But why abandon her own child? How could one live with that?
Thanks to my job, I quickly located the orphanage where Chloé was being raised. The director introduced a cheerful little girl with a radiant smile:
Heres our ChloéDupuis, he said to the child, tell the gentleman how old you are, sweetheart.
The girls obvious strabismus caught my eye; I felt an instant pang of sympathy. A deep attachment surgedI was looking at the daughter of my beloved wife! My grandmother always said:
Even a flawed child is a treasure to his parents.
Chloé bravely approached me:
Im four. Are you my dad?
I was taken aback. How do you answer a child who sees a father in every man?
Chloé, lets talk for a moment. Do you want a mom and a dad? My question sounded foolish, but I already wanted to scoop her up and take her home.
Yes! Will you take me? she stared at me, searching my eyes for an answer.
Ill come for you later. Will you wait, sweetheart? I felt tears welling up.
Ill wait. You wont lie, will you? she grew solemn.
I wont, I kissed her cheek.
Back home I recounted everything to my wife.
Lucie, whatever happened before me, we must get Chloé. Ill adopt her.
And you asked my opinion? Do I want this child? And shes crosseyed, too! Lucie snapped.
Shes your own daughter! Ill have her eyes fixed. Everything will be fine. Shes adorable; youll love her instantly, I was taken aback by my wifes reaction. Convincing Lucie to adopt Chloé proved difficult.
We had to wait a year before bringing the girl home. I visited her often at the orphanage, and over that year a strong bond formed between Chloé and me. Lucie, however, never warmed to the idea of a child and even tried to halt the adoption midway. I pressed on until the process was complete.
Finally the day came when Chloé crossed the threshold of our apartment for the first time. Small, seemingly trivial things filled her with wonder, joy, and amazement. Soon after, ophthalmologists corrected her strabismusa series of procedures that lasted a year and a half. I was relieved that no major surgery was required.
My daughter turned out to be the spitting image of her mother, Lucie. I felt complete. Two beautiful women illuminated my life: my wife and my daughter.
Almost a year after leaving the orphanage, Chloé became obsessed with a bag of biscuits, clutching it everywhereeven at night. I could never take it away; she seemed perpetually afraid of hunger. This irritated Lucie, while I was astonished.
I kept trying to unite our family, but my wife never learned to love her own child. Lucie loved only herselfher mean unhealthy selfabsorption.
Arguments, fights, and accusations with Lucie filled my days, all because of Chloé.
Why did you bring this wild girl home? Shell never be normal! my wife shouted hysterically.
I loved Lucie deeply; life without her seemed unimaginable. Yet my mother had warned me:
Son, its your choice, but I saw Lucie with another man. Nothing lasting will come from her. Shes evasive, cunning, and will deceive you before you realize it.
When youre in love, obstacles blur. Happiness shines brightly. Lucie embodied my ideal. The first crack appeared when Chloé entered our home. Perhaps it was because of her that I finally saw the reality of my family. I was shocked by my wifes indifference toward the little girl.
I even thought about stopping loving Lucie, but it felt impossible. A friend once told me:
Listen, old man, if you want to cool off toward a woman, measure her with a tailors tape. Its an old saying.
Youre kidding? I was skeptical.
Measure the bust, the waist, the hips. Then you wont love her anymore. I thought he was mocking me.
Still, I decided to try. I had nothing to lose.
Lucie, let me measure you, I called my wife.
She looked surprised:
Will I get a new dress?
Yes, I carefully measured her bust, waist, and hips.
After finishing, I went back to my friend and laughed, saying I still loved her just the same.
Soon after, Chloé fell ill with a cold and fever. She whined softly, sniffled, and clung to Lucie everywhere, holding her dollLéa. I was relieved to see her now hugging a doll instead of a biscuit bag.
My daughter loved constantly changing the dolls outfits, but that day the doll lay naked, a sign that its owner felt weak and couldnt dress it. Lucie shouted:
Stop whining. I cant take this! Go to bed!
Chloé squeezed the doll and kept sobbing, tears streaming. Suddenly Lucie snatched the doll from her, rushed to the window, opened it, and, in a furious gesture, threw the doll outside.
Mom, thats my favorite doll, Léa! Shell be cold out there! Can I get her? Chloé wailed, running to the front door.
I hurried down to retrieve the doll. The elevator was broken, so I raced down the stairs from the eighth floor. The doll hung from a branch, upsidedown. I shook off the snow, the melted flakes on its rubber face looking like tears. Climbing back up, my hair felt as if it were turning gray.
Lucies act made no sense. I entered Chloés room to find her kneeling beside her bed, head on the pillow, whimpering in her sleep. I gently placed the doll on the pillow next to her.
Lucie sat calmly in the living room, reading a magazine, seemingly oblivious to Chloé. In that moment my love for my wife evaporated, dissolved, vanished. I finally understood Lucie was an empty pretty package.
My wife, it turned out, got the message. We divorced. Chloé stayed with me, and Lucie raised no objections.
Later, when I crossed paths with my exwife, she tossed a sarcastic remark:
Sylvain, I was just a transition for you.
Ah, Lucie! Your eyes are emeralds, but your soul is as black as soot, I finally voiced my criticism without bitterness.
Lucie soon remarried a wealthy businessman.
I pity his husband. That woman should never be a mother, my mother judged.
Chloé initially wept a lot for her missing mother, reaching out for her with trembling fingers. But my new wife,Élisabeth, won Chloés affection and warmed her small heart. The childs mother had abandoned her twice, something I found unimaginable.
Élisabeth, with limitless tenderness and endless patience, dotes on Chloé and our son,Nicolas.
