I’m holding my daughter.
I’m holding my daughter for the first time.
And I’m crying.
I’m crying like I’ve never cried in my life.
She’s so small.
So warm.
So perfect.
She smells like strawberries and soap and something sweet I can’t identify.
She’s holding onto me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“I knew you’d come back,” she whispers.
“I wished on a star.”
I can’t speak.
I can’t breathe.
I just hold her.
I hold her and I cry and I thank God or whoever is listening that I’m here.
That I didn’t miss this.
“Daddy,” she says, pulling back to look at me, “where have you been?”
I don’t know how to answer.
“I was…
I was lost, Sophie.
But I’m here now.”
“Are you going to stay?”
I look at Lily.
She’s standing in the corner, her arms crossed, her eyes unreadable.
She doesn’t want me here.
She doesn’t trust me.
And she has every right not to.
“I hope so,” I say carefully.
“If your mommy lets me.”
Sophie turns to Lily.
“Mommy, can Daddy stay?”
Lily’s face softens.
Just for a moment.
Then it hardens again.
“We’ll talk about it later, Sophie.
Right now, you need to go back to bed.”
“But Mommy…”
“Bed.
Sophie sighs…, a dramatic, three-year-old sigh and climbs off my lap.
“Okay.
But Daddy, you’ll be here tomorrow, right?”
I look at Lily.
She doesn’t say yes.
She doesn’t say no.
“I’ll try,” I say.
“I promise.”
Sophie nods, apparently satisfied.
Then she hugs me one more time and runs back to the couch.
After she’s asleep, Lily walks me to the door.
“I don’t trust you,” she says.
“And I don’t know if I ever will.
But Sophie deserves a father.
So I’ll give you a chance.
One chance.
Don’t make me regret it.”