I thought nothing could come between my fiancée and my daughter until the wedding plans unraveled a secret that left me reeling and forced me to choose where I truly belonged.
“Chocolate chip or blueberry?” I called out, wrestling with the griddle. I could hear Sarah’s pencil tapping on the table.
She didn’t look up from her notebook. “Chocolate chip, Dad. But only if you do the smiley faces.” She tried to sound stern, but her mouth twitched into a grin.
“Chocolate chip or blueberry?”
“Deal,” I said, pouring batter. “You want a silly face or something respectable for once?”
“Definitely silly. The last one looked like a duck with three eyes.”
“That was a dragon, thank you very much.” I wiggled the spatula at her, and she stuck out her tongue. Sunlight spilled across her hair, still wild from sleep.
School mornings were our time, just the two of us, filling the house with jokes and pancake smells. But it hadn’t always been like this.
School mornings were our time, just the two of us.
Once, mornings had been silent, just the sound of coffee brewing and me pretending to read the news.
Sarah slid her homework over. “Dad, can you check my math before I go? Nora says you’re good with numbers, but I think she’s just being nice.”
I made a show of peering over my glasses. “I’ll have you know, I was almost a mathlete in high school.”
We both laughed. It felt easy, natural. But some mornings, I caught her glancing at the door, like she was waiting for someone else to join us.
“Dad, can you check my math before I go?”
“Is Nora coming for breakfast?” she asked.
“Not today, kiddo.” I flipped a pancake and tried not to sound disappointed. “It’s just us. Like old times.”
She grinned. “Good. Your pancakes are better anyway.”
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