I’m at school, and we’re drawing pictures of our families.
I draw Mommy and me.
And then I draw a shadowy figure in the corner.
I call him Daddy.
My teacher, Miss Honeywell, comes over.
“Sophie, who’s that?”
“It’s my daddy.”
“But I thought you didn’t have a daddy.”
“I do.
He’s just far away.”
“Would you like to tell me about him?”
I nod.
“He’s a shooting star.
Mommy said so.
He’s beautiful and fleeting and impossible to hold.”
Miss Honeywell’s eyes get watery.
“That’s a beautiful way to describe him.”
“Mommy says he doesn’t know about me.
But I wished on a star.
I wished for him to come back.”
“And do you think he will?”
I smile.
Wishes always come true.”
Miss Honeywell hugs me.
She doesn’t say anything.
But I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
That’s okay.
I believe enough for both of us.
That night, I look out my window at the stars.
I pick the brightest one.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please bring my daddy home.”