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Now, after all this time, he wanted to talk about her. What could he possibly want? My mind raced through every worst-case scenario. Custody? Money? Trouble? But beneath the fear, a tiny, almost imperceptible spark ignited. A spark of… hope? Not for me, never for me. But for her. She was always asking about him, drawing pictures of a faceless man, inventing stories of a dad who worked far away but would one day come home. It broke my heart every time.

An upset woman | Source: Pexels
His reply came quickly. He wanted to see her. He’d changed, he said. He’d reflected. He missed her. He wanted to be a father. The words felt like a cheap script, a performance. I’d heard them before, variations of them, always followed by disappointment and a deeper wound. My gut screamed NO. But my heart, the one that ached for my little girl, whispered, Just listen. For her.
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