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From beside us, Logan overhears her comment and barks out a laugh, a grin splitting his face. “Not a chance, kid,” he retorts, catching his breath.
Hannah sighs, but I see the corners of her mouth twitching. For all her teenage embarrassment, I know she adores him. She gets up and wraps her arms around his waist.
“You'll always be my little girl,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head.
“Happy Father’s Day, Dad,” she murmurs into his chest.
A tenderness washes over Logan's face as he wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer.
When the crowd erupts into cheers, we all whip our heads around to see Isabel dribbling the ball toward the goal. Her eyes are alight with determination, her tiny form a streak of energy.
“Go, Isabel!” I cheer, my voice joining Logan's. His hand finds mine and he gives it a squeeze. We're both on our feet now, hearts hammering in our chests as we watch her give it everything.
And then, as if in slow motion, we see Isabel's foot connect with the ball, sending it flying. It sails through the air, a perfect arc, and lands right into the net. The crowd roars in approval, applause ringing out across the field. Our little girl just scored her first goal.
The joy on Isabel's face is priceless. She turns to us, her arms raised in triumph.
Hannah is the first to break free, rushing onto the field to scoop up her little sister in her arms. Logan follows suit. I hang back, my heart swelling as I watch them, my family.
As I watch Logan holding the girls, love spilling from his eyes and warm affection coloring his voice, my mind wanders back through the years, marveling at how we've evolved, how we've grown into this beautiful family.
For Isabel, it was natural to see Logan as her father. She was so young when he came into our lives, her memories of a time before him fading into a blurry past. He has been there for all her firsts since.
Hannah, on the other hand... I'm not sure exactly when that transition happened. When he'd promised to always be there, he'd meant it, and he’d followed through in ways that still surprise me. There was a certainty in his voice, a promise that he'd kept, faithfully.
He was there for every milestone, every victory, and every challenge. We were a team. Parent-teacher conferences, illnesses, homework sessions, tantrums, tears—Logan was there through it all. More than that, he was usually the one who could put a smile back on their faces.
One day, the word “Dad” slipped from Hannah's mouth. It was so natural, so unforced that it caught us both by surprise. There was a moment of silence, and then a smile stretched across Logan’s face, before he excused himself. He said he didn’t, but I know he was crying like a baby. Since then, it became a title he wore with pride.
Watching him now, surrounded by the love of our daughters, the enormity of it all hits me. The man who promised to always be there for them had gone above and beyond to keep that promise. He hadn't just filled a void; he'd given us all a whole new dimension of love and family.
Witnessing this scene, I'm overwhelmed with love, for the father he has become, for the family we have built. I've never been more certain about anything in my life—Logan was meant to be a part of our lives.
“Dad” isn't just a title. It's a promise. It's a commitment. It's love. And Logan—well, he's the best Dad I could ever have hoped for our girls.
∞∞∞
The air is cooler, the taste of Springtime fresh on the breeze. I'm standing on our porch, leaning against the wooden railing. The rhythmic pulse of distant crickets and Missy’s quiet snores are the only sounds echoing in the calm darkness. The comfort of solitude wraps around me like a blanket.
When we decided to live together, we knew that we wanted something that was truly ours—a place that symbolized our unity, our combined dreams and hopes for the future. So, we built a house together. A labor of love that, brick by brick, reflected our joint effort, our shared vision.
It wasn't just a house; it was a home. A place where we laughed, cried, and loved. A place that saw us through our best and worst days. A place where we grew together, not just as individuals, but as a family.
Without needing to turn, I know he's there. Like always, I can sense him, his presence, his warmth. He moves behind me, an unseen smile curving his lips.
“Is Isabel finally asleep?”
He yawns, a soft exhale of breath against the nape of my neck. “That fifth reading ofWe're Going on A Bear Huntreally did the trick,” he replies, his voice low and husky with tired satisfaction.
His strong hand slips around my waist, anchoring me against him. He's warm, a constant source of heat in the chill of the night. His other hand lifts my hair from my neck, his fingers cool against my heated skin. His lips descend on the curve of my neck, setting my nerves alight. Each kiss he presses is a sweet torture, a delicious assault on my senses. I arch into him, a soft moan breaking the silence.
Secure in his arms, I close my eyes. I'm awash in the feel of him, the scent of him.
After a long minute, I ask what I always ask. “What's the dream?”
His hold tightens around me, pulling me closer still. He buries his face in my hair, a deep breath ruffling the strands.
A heartbeat of silence passes before he answers, “You, pretty girl. You've always been the dream.” Pressing another kiss to the sensitive spot below my ear, he says, “Come on, I want a shower.”
I eye him over my shoulder. “Have at it.”
He digs his fingers into my waist and tickles before his words hit my ear in a growl. “With my wife.”
The promise in his voice ignites a spark in me. His gaze is warm, filled with an intensity that has my pulse fluttering.
With a crooked smile, he extends his hand. “Ready?”
I thread my fingers through his. “Ready.”
The End
