Page 213 of Fighting Chance

“I am loved.” Her eyes fly to mine, and for some reason, I feel the need to repeat myself. “You are so loved, Emmy.”

Biting her lip, she swings her eyes back to herself in the mirror and whispers, “I am loved.”

“So very loved,” I remind her before kissing her cheek. “So loved, in fact, we’re going out today.”

Her eyes widen as she scrambles off my lap. Even with my butt on the floor and her standing, that only brings us to eye level.

“We’re having a daddy-daughter day,” I declare.

Surprise thunders through me as she rolls her eyes.

Gasping dramatically, I tickle her stomach, her squeals of happiness music to my ears. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Miss Emmy?”

“Y-yes,” she stutters through her laughter.

“And where did you learn that little move?”

“Layla rolls her eyes at you all the time.”

“She’s going to have a field day when I tell her about this,” I murmur to myself. “Well, what did I do to deserve the eye roll, missy?”

“It’s daddy-daughter day every day!”

And doesn’t that just melt my heart.

“Of course it is, because I love spending time with you. You’re my favorite person to hang out with.”

Her eyes widen, her giggles from the tickles long-forgotten as she whispers, “I am?”

“Of course!”

“What about Layla?”

Leaning forward, I whisper conspiratorially, “I love Layla, but you are my number one girl.”

Her eyes widen even farther before she flings forward, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“What do you say, munchkin? Ready to go shopping?”

“Hell yes!”

Biting my lip to stop myself from laughing, I make a mental note to stop sayinghellaround the house.

Four months ago, if I told myself I’d be driving back from spending the day shopping with Emmy and that she spent the entire time yapping my ear off, I wouldn’t have believed myself. For one, I wouldn’t have believed she was a talker, and second, I wouldn’t have believed that in such a short amount of time she’d come out of her shell like she has, but here we are.

And I’m fucking loving every moment of it.

Just the mere knowledge that Emmy trusts me enough, that I’ve made her feel comfortable to talk, has my heart melting. It means I’m a good father.

“Daddy?”

I flick my gaze to the rearview mirror, the new Barbie doll I bought sitting clutched in Emmy’s hand.

“Yes, munchkin?”

“I like living with you.” She’s looking out the window like she isn’t turning me into a blubbering mess. “I’m not scared anymore.”

I sniffle, trying to blink away the emotions. “I’m glad, sweetheart. I never want you to be scared again, not in your home.”