I thought I had built a complete life for my daughter and me, even if I had to carry most of it alone. Then one innocent little sign brought someone from my past to my front door and forced me to question whether protecting Millie meant keeping old wounds closed forever.
“Mommy, can we get a daddy?”
That’s what my six-year-old daughter, Millie, asked me over pancakes one Saturday morning.
I nearly choked on my coffee.
“A daddy?”
She nodded seriously. “Yeah. For us. I think we need one.”
“Mommy, can we get a daddy?”
I set my mug down.
“Can we start with something cheaper? Like a hamster?”
She frowned.
“Hamsters don’t fix sinks.”
“Neither did the last plumber.”
She giggled, but only for a second.
“Hamsters don’t fix sinks.”
“Daddies play with you and fix stuff. And then you don’t have to do everything, Mom. We’ll have more time together.”
That one got me.
Millie had watched me replace a toilet handle while balancing my phone on the sink. She’d seen me carry every grocery bag at once and rebuild furniture I’d assembled wrong.
She’d also heard me say the same thing a hundred times.
“Daddies play with you and fix stuff.”
I’ve got it.
I reached over and wiped syrup from her chin.
“You don’t have to worry about me, okay? We’re a pretty good team.”
“The best team.”
“Exactly, baby.”
She pushed a strawberry around her plate.
“We’re a pretty good team.”
“But maybe a team can have more people.”
I should’ve paid more attention to that sentence.
***
A few hours later, I carried laundry past the front window and saw something white sticking out of the grass.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
TAP ” READ MORE ” 👇
