“You’re my dad?” a five-year-old girl clings to my hand. I crouch down in front of her, look closely at the little face—and it feels like a punch in the gut: the resemblance to me is too obvious.
“What’s your name?”
“Dasha.”
“Dashy, come to me! We’re going to be late!” a familiar voice calls out… my ex-wife’s voice.
I jerk my gaze up. Kristina freezes when she sees me, and struggles to swallow. There’s no doubt: in front of me is my daughter. And it’s equally clear that Kris won’t let me get close to either the child or her.
“You’re my dad. I know,” the little girl says in a trembling whisper. “Why did you leave us, Dad?”
Dmitry’s story from the novel “Ex-Husband. You Don’t Deserve Me!”