Consistency matters.”
He sets down his drink. “You made your choice today.”
“No, Dad. I made room for both of you. You just didn’t want to share the space.”
For a moment, I see the man I used to wait for on the porch, hoping he’d arrive early and take me for ice cream. The man who once told me bedtime stories and held my tiny hand in his.
And I feel a
pang of loss.
But I also feel peace.
“I’m still your daughter,” I say. “You’re still part of my life. If you want to be.”
He nods once, slowly. But doesn’t say anything more.
The night winds down. Jason and I sneak out under a shower of sparklers, my dress dusted with glitter and grass. Tim hugs me tight before we leave.
“Do you think he’ll come around?
” I ask him softly.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But you gave him the chance. That’s more than most people ever get.”
As we drive away, Jason takes my hand in the car and kisses my knuckles.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
But I also love the man who didn’t have to raise me—but chose to.
And I will never again let that love be hidden in the back row.
