God.Kids.
I take a breath, slow and careful.“So, you know how some families look a little different than others?”
She nods again.“Lily has two mommies.And Jake doesn’t have a mommy or a daddy, just his grandma.”
Smart and observant.Already more emotionally competent than most adults I know.
“Well,” I say gently, “you have a daddy.”
Her brows pinch together.“I do?”
My heart stutters.I glance at Zora, who gives me the smallest nod.Permission.Trust.
“It’s me,” I say quietly.“I’m your dad.”
The silence that follows is deafening.My chest locks up, fear roaring in my ears.I brace myself for confusion, for tears, for questions I won’t know how to answer.
Instead, Ivy blinks.Once.Twice.
Then she tilts her head.“Oh.”
Oh.“That’s it?”I ask, a little stunned.
She shrugs again, completely unfazed.“I kind of hoped you would be.”
I actually laugh.A startled, disbelieving sound that punches right out of my chest.“You did?”
“Yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious.“You look like me.And you say things Mommy says.And Bun-Bun likes you.”
Bun-Bun.The ultimate seal of approval.
She stands and walks right up to me, close enough that I can see the faint smudge of marker on her fingers.She smells like sunshine and crayons and safety.
“So does this mean you’ll come to the park with us now?”she asks.
I swallow hard.“If you want me to.”
Her face lights up like I just handed her the moon.“I want you to.”
And just like that, the world rearranges itself around that sentence.
Zora makes a small, broken sound behind us, and I glance up to see tears streaming down her face.Not the panicked kind.The relieved kind.The kind that comes after holding your breath for too long.
I turn back to Ivy, my voice rough.“I’m really happy you’re okay with this.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, small fingers wrapping around mine without hesitation.“I am.I’ve always wanted a daddy.”
That does it.I pull her into my arms, careful, gentle, like she’s something sacred.She fits against me like she’s always belonged there, her head tucked under my chin, her arms slipping around my neck like it’s instinct.
Maybe it is.
****
The park smells likecut grass and sunscreen and laughter.
Ivy is already halfway across the playground before Zora finishes locking the car, her little legs pumping as she makes a beeline for the swings.
“Daddy!”she calls over her shoulder.“Push me!”
