I was just a child when the accident happened. The world felt impossibly big and quiet without Mom’s laughter filling the corners of our home. Dad moved slowly through the days, his boots heavy on the old wooden floors. Each evening, I watched him stare at Mom’s picture, his grief as thick as the dust motes floating in the sunbeams.
One afternoon, Dad came home with bags from town—inside were pretty dresses, tights and panties, hair ribbons, and high heel shoes. He sat on the edge of my bed and gently brushed my hair, his hands trembling. "Would you mind if we tried something new, sweetheart? It might help us both feel a little less lonely." I nodded, and he smiled for the first time in months as he helped me dress.
Our days fell into a gentle rhythm. While Dad worked the fields, I ran the household—cooking, cleaning, and tending the garden. I wore the dresses, tights and heels he bought me, and we laughed together as I learned to arrange flowers and bake pies. "You make this house feel alive again," he said one evening, his eyes shining as he sipped his tea.
The years slipped by, and I grew into the role of Dad's daughter. When the time came, I packed for college, folding my favorite dresses and lingerie with care. Dad's hug was fierce and proud as he whispered, "Go show them how wonderful you are, my girl." As the bus pulled away, I waved, feeling both nervous and excited to show the world who I had become.
During my first year away, Dad met Margaret, a warm-hearted woman with gentle eyes and a ready smile. Their wedding was simple but full of joy. I was her maid of honor, wearing a pretty pink satin dress with lots of lace, fishnet tights and pink pumps. Afterward, Dad and Margaret sat me down at the kitchen table, holding hands. "We’d love to make it official, if you’d like to be our daughter," Margaret said softly. Tears stung my eyes as I agreed, overwhelmed by love and belonging.
Now, I walk the campus paths in my favorite skirt, pantyhose and sweater, my heart open and hopeful. I picture the life I want—a home filled with warmth, a family of my own, and maybe one day, a boy who will love me for who I am. I carry Dad's kindness and Margaret's gentle strength with me, certain that happiness is something we can choose, again and again.
