Page 12 of Bastian

No, my Ellaiza is gifted.

She skipped a grade when one of her teachers approached me regarding Ellaiza’s disinterest in the material she was teaching to the class. At first, I worried that she might have had a learning disability, but no. It turns out my girl was just bored since she already knew the material before the rest of the kids. So, I took her to get tested, and she scored high in the profoundly gifted percentile.

“Shaw tells me you’re not acting like yourself. Mind telling me what’s wrong?”

My daughter, I kid you not, rolls her eyes at me. “Shaw worries too much.”

Laughing aloud with my entire heart, which I only do when it comes to Ellaiza, I agree with her. “He does worry. We all worry. Want to know why?”

“Pourquoi?”

“Parce que nous t’aimons tous.”

She gives me a small smile that has my heart clenching. My daughter is a ray of sunshine on most days. Yes, she has tantrums and down days like every kid her age. She might talk like a petty, brilliant thirty-year-old woman, but she’s just a child.

A child who’s growing up right before the world’s eyes.

Shit.

“I love you all, too, daddy.”

Daddy.

Thud.

Thud.

My broken heart beats for my kid. Slow but steady.

“Now come on, baby. Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to feel sad.” She whispers timidly.

“Why would I feel sad? You can tell me anything, Ellaiza. Anything.” I grab her tiny chin and make her look me in the eyes. “I’m the parent, and I can handle anything.”

“Like a supervillain?” Leave it to my kid to root for the villain instead of the hero. When I asked her once if she thought I was a bad guy, she shook her head frantically and told me that she always roots for the villains because they love the hardest.

Fuck if I know where she got that from, but it warms my heart that she sees the good in everyone.

“Like a supervillain.” I agree.

“Promettez-vous?” she whispers.

“Traverse, mon coeur.”

A few seconds pass before she gets the courage to be honest with me about her feelings. “I miss mommy.” She whispers sadly, and it’s a bullet straight to the heart.

I miss mommy.

Crack.

If it’s even possible to feel one’s heart break, I feel that at this moment.

I did this. Not only to the woman I love and myself.

To my child, as well.

Grabbing her small hand in mine, I give her only the truth. Well, half-truths because I’m a coward, and she wouldn’t understand that selfishly, I was trying to be selfless.

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