Chapter 7
I hit the elevator button.
Over and over.
"Come on! Come on!"
The doors finally opened.
I pressed the lobby button.
The elevator crawled down.
Each second felt like an hour.
When the doors opened, I sprinted through the lobby.
Burst through the main entrance.
The street was chaos.
People everywhere.
Cars.
Buses.
Taxis.
No sign of Sophie.
Panic seized me.
She was five years old.
Alone in downtown Chicago.
Anything could happen.
I ran to the security desk.
"I need your help! A five-year-old girl just left the hospital alone! Blonde pigtails! Blue dress! White sneakers with pink trim! Call the police! Call everyone!"
The security guard jumped into action.
I ran back outside.
Scanned the crowd.
Left.
Right.
Then I saw her.
Half a block down.
Walking fast.
Shoulders hunched.
Tears streaming down her face.
She was heading toward the busy intersection.
Cars were flying by.
"SOPHIE!" I yelled.
I ran.
Faster than I'd ever run in my life.
She didn't look back.
She reached the curb.
Stepped into the street.
A taxi was coming.
Fast.
Honking.
She didn't see it.
She just kept walking.
"SOPHIE, STOP!"
I dove.
Grabbed her around the waist.
Pulled her back onto the sidewalk just as the taxi screamed past.
The driver yelled something out the window.
I didn't care.
I held Sophie tight against my chest.
My heart hammering.
She fought me.
Punching.
Kicking.
"Let me go! Let me go! I hate you! I want my mommy!"
I held on tighter.
"I know. I know you hate me. It's okay. Hate me all you want. But I am never letting you go. Never. Not ever again."
I sat down on the curb.
Still holding her.
She fought for another minute.
Then her energy gave out.
She collapsed against me.
Sobbing.
Great heaving sobs that shook her whole body.
I cried too.
Right there on the sidewalk.
In front of God and everyone.
I held my daughter.
And I cried.
For the six years I'd missed.
For the mother she was losing.
For the mess we'd all made.
We sat like that for twenty minutes.
Just holding each other.
Crying.
Eventually, her sobs quieted.
She pulled back slightly.
Looked at me.
Her eyes were red.
Swollen.
Miserable.
"You really are my daddy?" she asked.
Her voice was small.
Broken.
I nodded.
"I really am. And I know I wasn't here before. And I know that makes you mad. And you have every right to be mad. But I promise you this—from this second forward, I will be there. For everything. School plays. Skinned knees. Bad dreams. Everything. I will never leave you again. Not if I can help it."
She studied my face.
Searching for lies.
Finding none.
"Do you promise?" she whispered.
"I promise. On everything. Cross my heart."
She thought about it.
Then she did something unexpected.
She reached up.
Touched my cheek.
Her small fingers warm against my skin.
"Mommy says promises matter," she said.
I nodded.
"They do. And this is the most important promise I will ever make."
She leaned her head against my chest.
Listened to my heart beating.
"Okay," she said softly.
"Okay."
I stood.
Held her in my arms.
Carried her back toward the hospital.
She rested her head on my shoulder.
Her breathing slowed.
She was exhausted.
Half asleep.
"Daddy?" she mumbled.
The first time she'd said it.
I almost stumbled.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Can we get pancakes later? With blueberries?"
I laughed through my tears.
"Whenever you want. As many as you want."
"Okay."
She snuggled closer.
"I'm still mad at Mommy," she said.
"I know. But she loves you more than anything. She was just scared."
Sophie was quiet for a moment.
"Will she be in the stars?" she asked.
"Like in the books?"
I kissed the top of her head.
"She'll be the brightest one. Every night. You just look up, and she'll be there."
"Okay," she said again.
And then she was asleep.
My daughter.
Asleep in my arms.
Safe.
May you like
Whole.
Mine.
