Page 56 of To Hate You

“Yay.” She pointed at an empty wooden bench right in the middle of the park. “Can we go sit there while we wait?”

“Sure. Why don’t you run ahead and grab it before someone else does? I’m right behind you.”

She squealed as she ran, skipping and twirling, her hair bouncing around her tiny frame. My heart wanted to burst. It had felt that way ever since the day she was born, wrapping all five her fingers around my thumb, squeezing tight. I had convinced myself that squeezing my finger was my newborn baby girl’s way of telling me never to let go. It was the first thing I had ever said to her.

I won’t let go. Ever.

“I got the bench for us, Daddy,” she yelled, scooting up on the seat, her feet dangling down the front. She still had a few inches of growing before her feet would touch the ground.

“Come, sit.” She patted on the space next to her. “Is it almost time?”

“Almost.” I glanced up at the sky, scudding clouds grouped and stained with different hues of gray—a darker patch right above us.

Wiggling her hands underneath her legs, she craned her neck, staring up at the sky. “Do you love her?”

I glanced at her. “I do, little bug. I love her very much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t—”

“I know what it means, Daddy. It means you love both of us.”

I brushed my fingers down the soft strands of her silky blonde curls, a sudden pang searing through my chest.

“You don’t have to feel guilty, you know?”

“Guilty?” I frowned. “Why would I feel guilty?”

“For loving her, too.” She kicked her legs back and forth, glancing up at me. “It’s okay.”

I recoiled and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Why do you think I feel guilty?”

She shrugged. “Because you love her just as much as you love me, and I know that makes you sad sometimes.” Her bright blue eyes met mine. “You shouldn’t let it make you sad, Daddy. It’s okay to love us both.”

Her words hit me right in the gut, and I felt so confused. “Where is this coming from, little bug?”

“Daddy! Daddy, look!” She leaped up and pointed with both hands up at the sky. “It’s raining! It’s raining! Look!” She grabbed my hands, and I got up to my feet, tiny raindrops of pale pink soaking through her dress. “Look at your shirt,” she exclaimed, laughing excitedly, and I looked down, my white T covered in scattered polka dots of light red.

“See! Do you believe it now, Daddy?” She twirled in circles. “There is other life up there somewhere. I told you!”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The pure joy that radiated from her seeped through my pores, reaching for every molecule of my being. I didn’t care about the rain. I didn’t care that we waited years to see it. All I cared about was seeing her. Looking at her. Loving her.

“I knew there was no way God only made us. He loves life too much only to make one planet.”

Overcome with a tsunami of emotion; I dropped to my knees—this deep ache threading its way through my blood, going straight for my heart. “I love you, little bug,” I whispered. “I love you, Evie.”

She stilled, leaning her head to the side, her hair and dress suddenly dry as if the rain hadn’t touched her at all. “I know you love me, Daddy.” She reached out, and I gasped with a whimper, my heart cracking and tearing in two when she placed her tiny palm against my cheek. “You love us both very, very much. I love her, too. I can’t wait to meet my little sister.”

I opened my eyes, staring up at the high thatched ceiling. Something wet slipped down the side of my face, and I wiped at it, feeling the wetness on my thumb. It felt so real.Shefelt so real. My chest still hurt as my heart beat with a heavy thump, a deep ache running through my veins.

Evie.

It was the first time I’d ever dreamt of her so vividly. I could still feel the soft strands of her hair between my fingers, my skin covered in chills as I longed for my little girl.

The sound of a child’s laughter swept from the outside, and I got up from the couch and leaned against the doorframe when I saw them.

Under the Mediterranean sun, my wife and our two-year-old daughter were building sandcastles. Or rather, my wife was building them so my daughter could demolish them with one kick of her leg.

Sunlight reflected off Skyla’s red hair—almost as if the heavens tried to paint a crown atop her head. God knows, she deserved one for putting up with my ass. I had put her through hell, asked her to give up everything at a chance for us to be a family. And she did it without ever looking back. Her life as Sienna Whitlock was gone—a void of someone who existed a long time ago—a girl who grabbed me by the collar and pulled me into her foyer and into her life for good.

A woman who was now my wife and the mother of my child.

---