Then, one day, I got the news.

He left her. And my ex-wife? She had lost everything. Her new marriage, her financial stability, and—worst of all—her hold over me.

The best part?

My daughter started preferring to stay with me. At first, it was little things—asking for extra nights, running into my arms when I picked her up, crying when it was time to go back. Then, she wasn’t just visiting me. She was coming home.

Then came the moment I had been waiting for.

I stood at my ex-wife’s door, my daughter’s small hand in mine. Her bag was packed for our first official weekend together. My ex stood there, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected. But I saw it—the exhaustion, the defeat in her eyes.

I smiled, slow and satisfied.

“You were wrong,” I said. “You said I’d never see her again. Looks like I’ll be seeing her a lot.”

Her face hardened, her lips pressed tight, but she didn’t say a word. I gave her one last look, then turned, leading my daughter away.

As I buckled my little girl into the car, she beamed at me. “I love you, Daddy.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed her forehead. “I love you more, sweetheart.”

Then, I got in, shut the door, and drove away, finally free.