Two years after losing my wife, our home had slowly begun to feel whole again—especially for my daughter, Sophie, who was just three when her mother passed. At that age, it was hard to know what she remembered, but I often found myself wondering if she still heard her mother’s lullabies in her dreams.
Then came Amelia. Calm, kind, and full of gentle understanding, she brought a new energy into our lives. From the first moment they met at the park, Sophie and Amelia connected. Sophie had been on the swing set, determined to stay forever, and Amelia simply knelt beside her and said, “If you swing high enough, I bet you could touch the clouds.” Sophie’s eyes lit up—and so did something in me.
After Amelia and I got married, she suggested we move into a house she’d inherited. It had charm, soft light, and space for Sophie to grow. The moment Sophie stepped into her new bedroom, she twirled across the wooden floors and declared it her “princess room.” When she asked to paint the walls purple, Amelia beamed and said, “Let’s pick the shade together.” It felt like the fresh start we needed.
Soon after settling in, I had to leave for a work trip—my first extended time away since the wedding. I hesitated, but Amelia reassured me. “It’ll be girls’ time,” she said, handing me coffee with a smile. Sophie added excitedly, “We’re going to paint my nails, Daddy!” Their bond gave me peace of mind.
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