Chapter 4: Watching from the Outside

Then I saw David Callahan.

He looked older, but still had that same smug confidence, the kind that made you want to look away. I felt a wave of anger rise up, sharper than I expected after all these years. There he was, laughing with my family, as if he belonged there.

If you asked me who I hated most in this life, it would be David Callahan, no contest. Hands down.

We fell in love young. I thought we’d have a happy life together. But in our tenth year of marriage, his high school sweetheart’s husband died in a car accident, leaving her and their two children alone and pitiful.

I remember how he used to talk about Lisa Reynolds, how she was the one that got away. When her husband died, I tried to be understanding. I told him to help if he could. But I never imagined how far he’d go. He started spending more time away, coming home late, always with some excuse.

At first, he helped them behind my back. Later, I found out and we had a huge fight. He flushed with anger, accusing me of being heartless.

He twisted everything. Made me out to be the villain for not wanting to play second fiddle in my own marriage. "You’re selfish, you don’t understand what those kids are going through." Like I hadn’t sacrificed enough for our own family.

Then he showed up with his sweetheart’s two children and handed me divorce papers.

He didn’t even flinch. He just shoved the papers at me, his hands steady. Evan and Riley stood behind him, wide-eyed and silent. I felt my whole world crumble in that moment.

He said, “Evan and Riley are too young. They can’t be without a father.”

As if that explained everything. As if my own daughter didn’t need him just as much. The words echoed in my mind for years, every time I saw Emily’s face fall when she heard his name.

So he wanted to divorce me, be with his high school sweetheart, and become a father to those kids.

He didn’t care about the family we’d built, the memories we’d made. He just wanted to play hero to someone else’s children. I never understood how he could throw us away so easily.

While he said this, our daughter Emily clung to his leg, sobbing and begging him not to leave.

I can still hear her cries, the way her little hands gripped his pants, her face red and blotchy. She begged him, over and over, but he just shook her off, cold as ice. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes—pure heartbreak.

But David Callahan turned and left without a second thought.

He didn’t even look back. He just walked out the door, leaving us standing there, broken. I picked up the pieces as best I could, but some things never really heal.

I didn’t drag it out. I took most of our assets in the divorce and left with our daughter.

I wasn’t going to beg. I made sure Emily and I had enough to start over. I found a lawyer, fought for what was ours, and walked away with my head held high. I promised myself I’d never let anyone hurt us like that again.

I changed my daughter’s last name to mine—Morgan. She became Emily Morgan.

It felt like taking back a little bit of power. She was my daughter, through and through. I wanted her to know she belonged with me, that she was loved, no matter what.

Afraid she’d be mistreated by a stepfather, I never remarried. I devoted myself to raising her, watched her grow up, get into college, fall in love, get married, and have adorable Maddie.

Every parent worries, but I was relentless. I checked her homework, made her favorite meals, stayed up late when she was sick. I watched her blossom into a smart, kind woman, and when she brought Adam home, I saw the way he looked at her—with respect, with love. I knew she’d found someone good.

All this time, David Callahan never reached out. I heard he and Lisa never had more kids, raising those two as their own, working hard for them.

Rumors floated around—he and Lisa were the picture of a blended family, always at school events, always posting happy photos. I told myself I didn’t care, that their happiness had nothing to do with me. But sometimes, late at night, I wondered if he ever thought about us.

Emily once told me she hated David Callahan as much as I did. I believed her.

She used to say she’d never forgive him, that she’d never call Lisa anything but "that woman." I believed her. I thought our pain had forged an unbreakable bond. I never imagined she’d go back to them.

I never imagined they’d stayed in touch behind my back!

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. All those years, I thought I knew my daughter, thought we were on the same side. But the video proved otherwise.

Not only that, in the video, Emily and David Callahan stood together, talking quietly with no sign of resentment, even leading the group in singing the birthday song.

They looked like a family. My family. My place at the table had been taken by someone else, and I didn’t even see it coming.

My son-in-law and Maddie clapped along, and those two kids—now grown—sang, too.

Everyone was in on it, everyone but me. Even little Maddie, who I’d raised with all the love I had left, was there, smiling and singing. It felt like a betrayal I couldn’t put into words.

In the center of it all was David Callahan’s high school sweetheart, Lisa Reynolds. She looked as radiant as ever, dressed beautifully, soaking up the attention.

She wore a dress that shimmered in the light, her hair perfectly styled, her smile wide and bright. She was surrounded by people who adored her, basking in the warmth of a family I’d once called my own. It was like watching a movie where the villain wins.

She and I share the same birthday.

It’s a cruel twist of fate. Every year, I tried to ignore it, but this—this was too much. Seeing her celebrated while I sat alone felt like the universe’s idea of a joke.

And the most ridiculous thing—

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. My own daughter, the one I’d sacrificed everything for, had chosen her over me. The irony was bitter, sharp as glass.

My daughter Emily, the one I’d poured my life into, hugged Lisa Reynolds after the song and called her “Mom Lisa.”

I replayed that moment over and over, trying to make sense of it. How could she? After everything we’d been through, after all the tears and late-night talks, how could she call that woman "Mom"?

My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor, the video looping over and over.

I stared at the ceiling, numb. The video kept playing, the song repeating, their voices echoing in the empty room. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It felt like the world had ended, and I was the only one who noticed.

My chest ached, but more than that, I was in disbelief, scrambling to find an excuse.

I told myself there had to be an explanation. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, maybe Emily was just being polite. But deep down, I knew the truth. I’d been left behind, replaced, forgotten.

The daughter who’d relied on me, who’d seen her father’s coldness, who’d watched Lisa Reynolds play the innocent victim—saying sorry while barging into our family and destroying it—how could she possibly call that woman… Mom?

It didn’t make sense. I’d spent years warning her, protecting her, showing her the scars left behind. But maybe I’d tried too hard. Maybe, in the end, she just wanted a family, no matter the cost. Why else would she do this?

I couldn’t believe it. I sat on the couch for a long time, until I smelled something burning in the kitchen.

The sharp, acrid smell yanked me out of my stupor. I rushed to the stove, panic rising in my chest, trying to salvage what was left of the soup. But it was too late.

The chicken soup had boiled dry.

The pot was scorched, the kitchen filled with smoke. I dumped it in the sink, tears streaming down my face—not just from the smoke, but from everything I’d lost.

I rushed to turn off the stove. Distraught, I grabbed the pot and burned my hand badly, skin turning red almost instantly.

The pain was sharp, a physical echo of the ache in my chest. I ran my hand under cold water, but the sting lingered. I wrapped it in a towel, blinking back tears.