Finally, I speak. “I have a daughter.” The admission comes out small, barely audible.
Daughter. I repeat the word in my head.
Her expression softens. “Would you like to tell me about her?”
I nod, the lump in my throat almost choking me. “Her name’s Ivy. She is…my little girl… she was my whole world.”
“Was?”
I stared down at my hands, remembering the way she’d wrapped her whole fist around my finger. “Every morning, I’d wake up smiling because I’d get to see her. We had our little ritual. Maddison and I would take her to the park the second I’d get home…” My voice cracked. “My life was perfect.”
Dr. Pembrooke didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
I jogged up the steps of our house, keys in hand, heart racing with excitement. The door swung open before I even turned the lock. And there she was, same spot, same smile, waiting for me. Ivy.
“Dada!”
Her voice was high and bright, proud of herself, like she knew what it meant. And maybe she did because that had been her very first word.
I scooped her up, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and squeezed her until she laughed. Maddison walked in from the kitchen with the diaper bag slung over her shoulder, her smile just as warm.
“Ready to go to the park, Mr. Dada?”
I grinned and kissed her back. “Always.”
The park glowed in the late-afternoon sun. Ivy giggled as I pushed her on the swing, her hair catching the light with every arc. It felt… perfect. Like the world had stopped spinning just for us.
I lifted her from the swing, set her on the ground, and watched her crawl toward the jungle gym. She pulled herself up on a low bar, her legs trembling under the weight of her little body.
“Come on, baby,” Maddison coaxed, crouched a few steps away. “Walk to Mama.”
“Come on, Ivy. You can do it,” I urged, heart pounding.
And then, it happened. One wobbly step. Then another. Her arms outstretched, her tiny feet finding their balance—Ivy’s first steps.
The moment was bigger than any touchdown, any championship, any fireworks I’d ever seen in my life.
Maddison cried. I laughed. We celebrated with ice cream, Ivy making a mess of hers but loving every second.
That night, Maddison read her favorite story, rocking softly by Ivy’s crib.
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby, you’ll be.”
I leaned over, brushing a kiss across Ivy’s forehead.
And in that moment, everything I’d ever lost didn’t matter because I had everything I’d ever need right here.
The memory fades like light bleeding out of film… Ivy’s laugh, Maddison’s voice, the softness of that old lullaby.
When I blink, the park is gone. The crib, gone.
I’m back in Dr. Pembrooke’s office, the air still and heavy with everything I’ve just said aloud for the first time.
She hasn’t moved. Her eyes glisten, but her posture stays composed, poised, the way only she can be.
For a long moment, she says nothing. She just lets the silence hold me, like she knows words would only break it. Break me.
Finally, she leans forward slightly, her voice quiet and deliberate, that calm, lilting British tone that somehow cuts straight through me.
