Of birthdays.
Of scraped knees I wasn’t there to kiss.
And now my own daughter looks at me like she’s trying to place a memory she’s not sure is real.
Her lip trembles.
Tears spill down her cheeks.
She glances back over her shoulder at the woman being placed in the cruiser.
Then back at me.
Confused.
Lost.
My entire body is shaking.
“Ivy,” I say again, softer this time. “It’s Daddy.”
Her face changes.
Not instantly.
It’s slow.
I see it happen.
Her eyes trace my face.
My mouth.
My eyes.
Like she’s digging through a filing cabinet in her head.
Looking for something familiar.
Her breathing stutters.
Her brows pull together.
And then?—
Recognition.
It hits her like a wave.
Her mouth opens.
Her voice is small.
Broken.
“Daddy?”
That word doesn’t land.
