My chest tightened, like the air itself had turned heavy.
Myra wasn’t a child who asked for much. She didn’t pout or stomp her feet; she’d learned too early that my time was claimed before I even opened my eyes each day. But now, her little hands pressed against me, her eyes wide and steady, searching my face for an answer. And at that moment, I couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just a request—it was a piece of her heart she was placing in my hands.
“Please, Daddy?” Her voice dipped lower, almost shy. Then, as if she knew that wasn’t enough to sway me, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against mine, her nose brushing mine in a playful nudge. “If you come, I’ll sing extra loud… just for you.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh, but it caught halfway. I’d missed too many of her firsts—firs
