My wife left me and our seven children for a luxurious life with my wealthy best friend. I never tried to get even, not even when she reappeared ten years later. But when she screamed at our youngest daughter for confronting her, I realized I could no longer remain silent.

My name is Daniel. I’m 53, and for the past decade, I’ve raised seven children on my own.

I earned my living restoring furniture. Money was tight, but our children never lacked necessities.

Vanessa, my ex-wife, wasn’t satisfied.

“That woman’s handbag costs more than our refrigerator,” she complained.

“Then let’s hope it keeps her groceries cold.”

“Everything’s a joke to you, Daniel.”

“Not everything.”

“Look at Rob. New car, expensive vacations. Why can’t we live like that?”

“Rob doesn’t have seven children.”

“There’s always an excuse.”

Rob was my closest friend, someone I trusted enough to give a spare key to our home.

I spent my days repairing damaged furniture, convinced that nearly everything could be restored.

Eventually, I discovered otherwise.

Ten years earlier, a canceled appointment sent me home unexpectedly.

Hearing voices upstairs, I went to our bedroom and discovered Vanessa with Rob.

“Daniel!” Rob jumped backward.

Vanessa hardly reacted.

“How long?” I demanded.

“Don’t make a scene.”

“With my best friend? In our bedroom?”

“Maybe you should ask why I needed someone else.”

“Daniel, buddy…” Rob began.

“Don’t call me buddy.”

Vanessa crossed her arms. “I deserved a better life, Daniel. Rob understands what I want.

“What about our seven children? Sophie just turned two!”

“I’m tired of changing diapers while you barely pay the bills!”

I learned she’d already vacationed with Rob in the Maldives, claiming she was visiting her sister.

“So you’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“And the kids?”

“You’ll manage.”

While she packed her belongings, I made one final attempt.

“Sophie still sleeps holding your sweater.”

“Then give her another blanket.”

She wasn’t simply ending our marriage. She was walking away from all seven children.

Sophie sobbed through that first night, finally quieting near dawn.

“Daddy, where’s Mommy?”

“She’s not coming home tonight, sweetheart.”

“Tomorrow?”

I had no answer.

Rachel, our eldest, was sixteen. She discovered me sitting on the kitchen floor.

“Dad, are we going to be okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it until I do.”

I began repairing furniture each morning, stocking supermarket shelves at night, and delivering orders on weekends.

Rachel prepared breakfasts, Nathan assisted with schoolwork, and the other children helped care for Sophie.

One evening, Sophie asked, “Did Mommy leave because I cried too much?”

“Nothing you did made her leave, sweetheart.”

“Even when I was naughty?”

“Especially then.”

“Did Mom ask about us?” Rachel asked.

“Sometimes. I send her pictures.”

“Does she ever answer?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why don’t you tell her what you think?”

“Because you’ve already been hurt enough.”

“Dad, you need to move on. Find yourself a girlfriend. You deserve to be happy, too.”

“With seven kids? I’d need to put up a warning sign.”

“Dad!” Rachel laughed.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart. I’m happy right here with you.”

I did attempt dating occasionally, but most women lost interest after learning I had seven children.

I never married again.

Instead, I concentrated on earning a living, while the children contributed however they could.

“Dad, I’ll photograph your furniture,” Rachel offered.

“And I’ll build you a website,” Nathan added.

“Will that bring customers?”

“Only if your chairs stop looking haunted.”

Their efforts worked, and eventually I established my own restoration workshop.

I created handmade gifts for every birthday. When Sophie turned twelve, I restored an antique wooden desk she’d admired for months.

“You’re still worried she won’t like it?” Rachel asked.

“She wanted a tablet, too. I couldn’t afford both.”

“Dad, she’s been talking about that desk for weeks.”

“But a tablet would’ve cost more.”

“So? Since when does the price decide how special a gift is?”

I smiled, realizing Rachel was right.

The next evening, a tablet became the least of our concerns.

Sophie’s birthday barbecue brought all seven children together, along with her classmates and several neighbors.

She shrieked with excitement upon opening her present.

“DAD! YOU FINISHED IT!”

“Unless you’d prefer another pair of socks.”

She threw her arms around me, nearly knocking me over. “This is better than the tablet!”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it for you!”

“Can we put it in my room tonight?” Sophie asked.

“After the party.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She grinned. “Then I’ll do my homework at it tomorrow. Even math.”

“Now that’s a serious compliment.”

A knock interrupted us.

I answered the door to find Vanessa wearing an expensive cream coat and oversized sunglasses.

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