When my 7-year-old daughter, Lily, came home from school in tears, clutching her backpack like it was the only safe place left in the world, my heart shattered. She collapsed into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sure! Here’s a shorter, condensed version of your story while keeping the emotional core:

“What happened, sweetie?” I asked, crouching beside my daughter.

Through tears, she whispered, “Mrs. Carter said… you must regret having me.”

Furious, I drove straight to the school. Mrs. Carter looked up calmly as I entered.

“I assume you’re here about Lily,” she said.

“How could you say something like that to a child?” I snapped.

She gestured to Lily’s backpack. “Check the front pocket.”

Inside was a crumpled drawing—a sad stick figure with a red “X” over it and the words: My dad doesn’t love me.

My heart sank.

“She drew that today,” Mrs. Carter explained. “When I asked why, she said, ‘My dad wouldn’t care if I disappeared.’ I never told her you regretted her. I gently asked if she felt that way. I was trying to understand, not accuse.”

I sat down, guilt replacing my anger. “I didn’t know. Work’s been hard, and her mom and I split last year. Maybe I haven’t been there like I thought.”

“She’s hurting,” Mrs. Carter said. “Talk to her heart.”

That night, I sat on her bed and showed her the drawing.

“I’m not mad,” I said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been listening. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She hugged me tightly.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Lily. Always.”