Maddi waved me off. “I’ll feel better and actually sleep—just grab the backpack leash thingy, it’s bright, you’ll be able to see the pink dragon.”
“Daaaad!” Ivy yelled. “I need my water bottle!’
“Coming, coming.” I rushed over to grab the water bottle. It wasn’t until we got into the car that I realized I forgot her backpack leash.
11:03 a.m. — County Fairground
I leaned over and bumped her knee with mine once at the fair. "You know the rule," I said, keeping my tone light. "Wherever we go, we gotta pick a meeting spot. Just in case we get separated."
She turned her face toward me, a piece of her hair catching on the breeze.
"This bench," she said immediately, patting the weathered seat underneath her with sticky fingers. "Right here?"
"Right here." I nodded. "You got it?"
She pressed her lips together in a serious little line and nodded back. "Got it, Daddy."
I smile, pulling a pen out of my pocket without thinking. I flipped it between my fingers and gave her a look, lowering my voice like I was about to tell her the world's greatest secret.
"Let me show you what your mom and I used to do when we were kids," I said.
Her face lit up instantly, curious and eager.
I leaned forward, pressing the tip of the pen against the wood between us. The bench groaned under the pressure, but it held steady as I carefully etched two letters into the surface.
I + N
Then, slowly, I drew a heart around it.
It wasn’t perfect, my hand was too big, the pen too cheap, but it didn’t matter. Ivy watched me with this open, honest wonder that made every flaw feel like it was part of the magic.
When I capped the pen and slipped it back into my pocket, she was already smiling at me like I had just shown her how to hang the stars.
Before I could say anything, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around my waist, cotton candy and all.
I closed my eyes, holding her tight, willing myself to remember this.
This moment.
This bench.
My little girl, who hugged me like it was the safest place she knew.
11:27 a.m. — Midway
Ivy’s getting her face painted when she spots the perfect prize.
“Daddy, look!” She pointed—a pink plush llama the size of a carry-on —hanging above the Baseball Basket Challenge.
“For Mom,” she said with confidence. “Make her head feel better.”
Game on.
11:29 a.m.
Ball one—too flat. Bounced out.
Ball two—too much backspin. Out.
