Patricia laughed sharply.
"She was trying to turn you against me."
I shook my head.
"She was asking me to come home."
Silence.
Then Patricia said, "You have no idea what it's like being the person who handles everything while you play the loving father whenever you have time."
The words hurt.
Not because they were entirely false.
But because she was using a real criticism of my absence to justify hiding my daughter's distress.
I took a breath.
"You're right that I wasn't home enough."
She seemed surprised.
I continued.
"That doesn't make it acceptable to punish Sophia for wanting to talk to me."
Patricia's voice hardened.
"I gave that girl structure."
"You made her afraid."
"She needed boundaries."
"She needed to know she could tell her father the truth."
Patricia didn't answer.
Then she said something that finally revealed how differently we understood the situation.
"You have no idea how much attention she demands."
I stared.
"She's nine years old."
"And everything in this house revolves around her."
I closed my eyes.
I thought about the wedding photographs.
The early years.
Patricia telling me she'd never try to replace Sophia's mother.
Then I asked quietly, "Is that what this is about?"
"What?"
"Do you resent how much I love my daughter?"
Patricia was silent.
For several seconds, I thought the call had disconnected.
Then she whispered, "You were never really mine."
I felt cold.
"What?"
"There was always your daughter. Always your first wife. Always some memory I wasn't allowed to touch."
I leaned back.
I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
Perhaps the resentment had been building for years.
Perhaps she'd never understood how to love someone whose life already contained grief, responsibility, and a child who came before the marriage.
But none of that excused what she had done.
I spoke slowly.
"Patricia, Sophia is my daughter. She isn't a rival for my affection."
She didn't answer.
I continued.
"And her mother being dead doesn't mean we have to pretend she never existed."
Patricia's breathing changed.
"You don't understand."
I looked toward the hallway.
"Then we'll have to discuss this through the appropriate professional and legal process."
She became angry.
"You're going to destroy our marriage over a few chores and some letters?"
I took a long breath.
"No."
Then I answered with the clearest truth I'd spoken since finding Sophia in the laundry room.
"Our marriage is in trouble because you made my daughter afraid to tell me she needed help."
Patricia didn't respond.
I ended the call.