I uncrossed my arms and turned to face the sweet voice, those big brown eyes looking up at me with a plea.
How a father could leave something like this, I would never understand.
Kneeling to her eye level, I brushed a strand of dark bronze hair behind her little ear. “Of course. But then it’s bedtime, yes? I’ve already kept you up too late.” I softly tapped her nose, which crinkled with a smile, a gap between her two front teeth peeking out.
“Okay. Come on, I’ve picked it out,” Marigold said, grabbing my pinky and leading me to her bed across the room. For her seventh birthday a few weeks ago, my mother had her entire bedchamber redecorated however Marigold desired—which meant pink, purple, and white covered every inch of the space. An artist painted a mural of a whimsical garden on the wall facing her door, and carpenters built a new bed frame and canopy with pink translucent curtains that flowed over her bed like a veil. Portraits of castles and Marigold’s favorite animals dotted the walls, and more toys than I could count were nestled in various corners.
I told my mother she was spoiling her rotten. I was fairly confident this bedroom was the most valuable chamber in the mansion.
But the look on Marigold’s freckled face when she saw it for the first time…
I would give her athousandrooms to see that smile.
“This one.” She plopped onto her bed and held out a thin, leather-bound book.
I raised an eyebrow. “Again?”
“You know it’s my favorite, Daddy.”
“I think you could recite it to me by memory at this point,” I said with a chuckle, tying back my long hair with a strap of leather before climbing onto the bed with her.The Lost Princess. She’d been obsessed with this book since Galen gave it to her last year.
“Alright.The Lost Princess,” I began, opening the book to the title page with artwork depicting a young girl and a crown at her feet. Marigold slipped under the covers and nudged my elbow with her head so she could nestle into my side. Herfingers came up to feel the wrinkled pages, as she always loved to do. Kissing the top of her head, I rested the book between us.
“Once upon a time, there was a little princess who lived in a beautiful castle. She had a mother and father who loved her very much. They would let her play in the meadows and ride her pony in the fields, and tucked her into bed every night with a kiss.
“One night, there was a loud, scary storm. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked outside the little princess’s window, and she became scared. But right before she was about to hide under her covers, a soft, pretty lullaby began playing. The music became louder as a figure appeared from the shadows of her room. It was a beautiful woman, with hair like gold and eyes as bright and purple as the princess’s favorite flower, a violet.”
“Daddy, violets aremyfavorite flower too!” Marigold exclaimed.
I chuckled. “I know, sweetheart.” Last year it was a rose, and the year before that, a daisy.
“Keep going,” she insisted.
“You’re the boss.” I cleared my throat. “The strange woman smiled at the princess and asked, ‘Are you afraid of the storm, little one?’”
“Do thevoices, Daddy,” Marigold interrupted.
“Alright, alright, if you insist.” I pitched my voice higher as I continued, “‘I can take you somewhere safe,’ the woman said, holding out her hand. ‘Somewhere the monsters and storms can’t reach you.’
“When another blast of thunder shook the room, the princess jumped up and took the woman’s hand. In the blink of an eye, she was transported to a wonderful garden, full of friendly animals and flowers and blue skies.”
“How did she get there?” Marigold asked. This was part of our nightly routine—no matter how many times we read the same book, she would always ask questions, always wanting to know more.
“Magic, I suppose.”
“Is magicreal?”
I hesitated. There was so much about this world she didn’t understand yet. To her, magic was some fanciful, sparkly idea that granted wishes and made life better.
She didn’t know how magic could be a curse.
“Some magic is real,” I answered truthfully. “I think there’s magic in the way your grandmother and I love you. There’s magic in the world around us—the pretty flowers outside your door, how the sky lights up pink and gold when the sun goes down.”
“And my mommy?” she asked. “You say Mommy looks down on us from the stars. Is that magic too?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and smoothed out her hair. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s magic. And your mother loves you very much, even if she’s not here anymore.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I thought she’d fallen asleep when she quietly whispered, “Will you keep reading?”
