Maisie clung to me after I stepped out for a moment. Ever since her mom left, even small absences feel huge.
She asked if her mom was coming back. I didn’t know. So I just said, “Daddy’s not going anywhere.”
Later, she whispered, “Mommy said she loves me, but loves the world more.” It shattered me.
Lana always chased freedom—travel, new places, new dreams. When she left, she said she needed space. She never called back.
I stopped waiting and built something steady for Maisie and me—remote work, bedtime stories, quiet love.
She once told her teacher she wanted to bring a suitcase in case her mom picked her up. That night, I promised her again: “Daddy’s here. Always.”
Her birthday came—balloons, friends, joy. A woman named Tessa helped clean up. We laughed. It felt like the beginning of something new.
Then a letter arrived from Lana. She was teaching abroad, not ready to parent. Maisie asked, “Does this mean she loves me again?”
I told her, “Yes—but in her own way. And I love you in mine.”
Eventually, Lana visited. It was brief. Polite. Maisie hugged her, then returned quietly to my side.
Later, she said, “She’s still finding herself. But I’m already whole with you.”
That’s when I realized: love isn’t in words—it’s in who stays.