Too Pretty to be a Boy -9- by Lajien

Uncle Ian pulled into the driveway and put the car in park with a decisive click. As I unbuckled my seatbelt, a sense of anticipation bubbling within me at the sight of my new bike, I instinctively moved to grab it. However, Uncle Ian stopped me with a firm but gentle shake of his head. Let him handle it, I thought, knowing he probably had a specific way he wanted to unstrap it.

“Just help your sisters get the clothes and gear inside,” he instructed, nodding toward Abby and Angela as they had already popped the trunk and started unloading the numerous shopping bags.

Sisters. The word echoed in my mind, settling there with a comforting familiarity. It wasn’t forced, or something I had to consciously get used to; it simply was. A quiet sense of belonging settled within me. Abby and Angela weren’t just my best friends, confidantes in late-night whispers and partners in impulsive schemes; they were undeniably my sisters. And Uncle Ian? He wasn’t just my godfather; he was family in every sense of the word, a steadfast presence in our lives.

I nodded, shifting gears in my head from bike-focused excitement to the immediate task, and helped them pull out the bulging bags filled with my new riding gear. We had to fold down one of the back seats to reach everything crammed into the trunk, but soon enough, our arms were full with the soft, technical fabrics and protective padding.

“Just open the garage for me, and I’ll handle the bike,” Uncle Ian added, already reaching for the handlebars of my gleaming new ride, his movements careful and precise.

I nodded again, pushing the front door open so Abby and Angela could carry the heavy bags inside. Mom was already standing in the foyer, arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow arched in a silent question as she took in the sheer volume of shopping bags we were hauling into her perfectly organized entryway. Oh boy, the interrogation is coming, I thought with a slight smile, knowing her curiosity was piqued.

“I’ll explain later,” I said quickly before she could even voice her inevitable inquiry, hoping to forestall the immediate questioning.

Mom just exhaled, a small huff of amusement escaping her lips as she clearly made a mental note to extract all the details from me later. She stepped aside, allowing us to pass as we carefully set the bags down near the coat closet.

Once the bags were safely inside, I pulled out my phone and tapped on the familiar icon of the house app, opening the garage door remotely with a soft whirring sound. Abby and Angela continued carrying the bags further into the house, disappearing towards the stairs, while Mom remained in the foyer, still observing the scene with that knowing, slightly amused expression.

Uncle Ian smoothly wheeled my new bike into the spacious garage, the tires rolling silently on the polished concrete floor. He immediately started fiddling with the onboard computer mounted on the handlebars, his experienced fingers moving over the small controls with practiced ease. He seemed completely absorbed in the task, a focused frown creasing his brow.

“I’ll set this up for you so you’re ready to ride with us tomorrow,” he muttered more to himself than to me, his attention fully on adjusting the various settings and displays.

Then, as if a thought suddenly occurred to him, he glanced up at me, his expression shifting slightly. “By the way, an old friend of mine and your dad’s asked if his son could join us tomorrow. He’ll meet us at the trail after we finish the hard part. He’s nowhere near as experienced as you or your sisters, though, so I doubt he could keep up, let alone stay safe on that trail. Abby and Angela are fine with it, but if you don’t want him there, just say the word, and I’ll tell his dad no. This is a family ride, after all.”

His tone was casual, but I sensed a subtle undercurrent of something else, perhaps a hesitation or a hidden concern.

I frowned slightly, a flicker of annoyance at the thought of an outsider joining our usual ride, but then I remembered Uncle Ian’s earlier explanation about the importance of family and support. “I don’t mind,” I said honestly, trying to sound sincere. “Especially if it’s a request from one of Dad’s old friends.” Besides, I thought, it’s not like I have to talk to him.

Uncle Ian nodded slowly, but I could tell there was something lingering beneath the surface of his agreement, a shadow of unspoken reservation in his eyes.

“What’s his name?” I asked, a little flicker of curiosity now piqued despite my initial indifference.

Uncle Ian sighed, running a hand through his short, neatly cut hair, a gesture he often made when slightly uncomfortable. “Not sure if you know him or not, but he hangs around Angela a lot—Nathan Queens.”

My stomach dropped with a sudden, unpleasant lurch. Of course. It had to be him, I thought, the memory of our awkward and confrontational encounter at the basketball court earlier that day flashing through my mind.

Uncle Ian caught my immediate reaction, his keen eyes narrowing slightly, assessing the sudden shift in my demeanor. “From that look, I’m guessing you’ve met him.”

I exhaled, crossing my arms defensively. “Yeah. Met him this morning. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant introduction.”

Uncle Ian sighed again, leaning against my new bike as if seeking support from the inanimate object. “Listen, Carla, the kid’s misunderstood. His mom—” He shook his head, like he was struggling to find the right words to explain a complex and difficult situation. “Rebecca’s a problem. We were freshmen in high school when she was a senior. She got her claws into one of our classmates, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. He didn’t finish high school, didn’t go to college—hell, he never even had a real life. He’s been stuck in Rebecca’s house for over twenty years, completely under her thumb.” His voice was low and filled with a deep-seated sadness and frustration.

I swallowed hard, listening intently, a growing sense of unease settling in my stomach. This was a side of Nathan’s life I had never even considered.

“She’s got him dressing in nothing but skirts and dresses, doesn’t allow him to work, doesn’t even let him think for himself. At their wedding, she made damn sure he was the one in a bridal gown.” Uncle Ian’s tone was grim, the absurdity of the situation underscored by the tragic reality of it.

I blinked, my mind reeling from this unexpected revelation. “Wait—you’re saying Nathan’s dad was the one in the dress?” The image was so bizarre and disturbing that it took a moment to fully process.

Uncle Ian nodded grimly. “And she makes damn sure Nathan sees that every day as an example of what happens when a man isn’t ‘strong enough.’” His expression darkened with a protective anger. “Nathan’s trying to fight it, Carla. He’s holding onto whatever semblance of masculinity he has left, but Rebecca’s barely letting him breathe.”

A knot twisted in my chest, a sudden wave of empathy washing over me. I’d only seen Nathan as an entitled brat before, someone to avoid. But now, hearing this… maybe I was finally seeing him in a completely different light, a victim of a truly bizarre and oppressive situation.

I hesitated, the urge to explain my own encounter with Nathan suddenly feeling more urgent. “Uncle, there’s something I need to explain. About what happened this morning.”

Uncle Ian’s gaze sharpened immediately, all traces of his earlier weariness gone. “Go on.” His attention was fully focused on me now, his posture tense.

I took a breath, gathering my thoughts. “Rebecca came over this afternoon. To Mom’s house.”

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. His jaw tightened visibly, and his grip on my bike’s handlebars turned white-knuckled, the metal groaning slightly under the pressure. “She what?” His voice was low, dangerous, barely above a whisper.

“She was with Nathan,” I continued carefully, watching his reaction, gauging his rising anger. “And she had him apologize. For trying to bully me.”

His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. The shock flickered across his face, momentarily eclipsing the anger, but I could still see it simmering beneath the surface, a tightly coiled spring.

“Bully you?” His voice dropped even lower, the dangerous edge now unmistakable. “I thought I made it clear—nobody messes with my daughters.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. “Maybe I need to make myself clearer to that woman.”

I quickly stepped in, placing a hand on his arm before his temper could escalate further. “I think it was just a misunderstanding,” I admitted, trying to downplay the incident. “I ran into him at the basketball court, and he assumed… he assumed I was a girl. Then Angela called my name, and when he realized I wasn’t born a girl, he kind of flipped out—said I tricked him, he grabbed my collar.” I left out the part about flipping him onto the grass, sensing that might not help calm Uncle Ian down.

Uncle Ian took a slow, deep breath through his nose, his chest rising and falling deliberately as he fought to regain control. “So… what did you do?” His voice was still tight, but the immediate threat seemed to have receded slightly.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Flipped him. Made sure he landed on the grass, though.”

Silence hung in the air for a long moment.

“You flipped him?” Uncle Ian repeated slowly, blinking as if trying to process the unexpected information. A corner of his mouth twitched, and I thought I saw the barest hint of a smile.

I nodded, trying to suppress a smirk of my own. “Made sure he landed on the grass, though. Didn’t want him getting hurt.”

For a split second, I saw it—that unmistakable flicker of amusement, maybe even a hint of pride in his eyes. But it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “That’s my girl.” Then his expression hardened again, the earlier anger returning. “But Rebecca didn’t just show up to make him apologize. What did she really want?”

I sighed, knowing there was no way to sugarcoat this. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

His eyes darkened, the protective fury returning full force. “What did she want, Carla?” He pressed, his gaze intense.

I hesitated, the words feeling strange and uncomfortable as I finally said it outright. “She wants me to date Nathan.”

The garage went utterly silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Uncle Ian stared at me, his expression unreadable, as if waiting for me to break into a laugh and tell him it was all a ridiculous joke. When I didn’t, his entire body seemed to go rigid, his muscles tensing.

“She what?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.

“She wants me to… take control of him,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “To tame him. To make sure he ‘respects women.’” The whole idea felt manipulative and, frankly, insulting.

Uncle Ian ran a large hand down his face, exhaling sharply, a sound of pure disbelief and frustration. “That woman is out of her damn mind.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” I continued, wanting him to understand the full extent of Rebecca’s audacity. “The moment Mom realized what Rebecca was suggesting, she went off. Told her I decide who I date, and if Rebecca thinks she can set up some kind of arranged relationship for me, she’s completely delusional.” A small smile tugged at my lips as I recalled Mom’s fierce protectiveness.

That made Uncle Ian smirk slightly, a flicker of amusement finally breaking through his anger. “Sounds like Lillian, all right. Never one to mince words.”

“Oh, she wasn’t done,” I added, a touch of pride in Mom’s unwavering support. “She told Rebecca that if any guy does date me, he better be ready to handle Dad and Johnny first.”

Uncle Ian laughed outright at that, a hearty, booming sound that echoed through the garage, shaking his head in amusement. “God, I love your mom. She always knows how to handle things.”

I let out a breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly at his reaction. “But here’s the thing—I think I might actually do it.”

Uncle Ian’s smirk vanished instantly, his laughter abruptly cut short. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression now completely unreadable, a mixture of surprise and concern. “You want to date Nathan?”

I shook my head quickly. “Not like that. Not in a romantic way. But if Rebecca wants me to ‘tame’ him? Fine. I’ll do it. But not to break him down, Uncle Ian—to help him. To give him the strength to stand up to her.”

Uncle Ian stared at me for a long moment, his gaze intense and searching. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “I don’t know if this is the best or the absolute worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life.” Then his eyes darkened with a serious intensity. “But if you do this, Carla, promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

I swallowed hard, meeting his unwavering gaze. “What?”

His gaze burned into mine, a silent warning. “You have to make damn sure you’re the one in control. Always.”

“Anyway, I am done setting up the computer on your bike. It should work just fine,” Uncle Ian explained, finally breaking the intense silence, picking up his phone, and snapping a quick photo of my new ride. “And this is purely to brag about it in front of your father. Prepare for an onslaught of expensive gifts heading your way.”

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. The playful competition between Uncle Ian and Dad was a constant source of amusement, a bizarre but endearing rivalry fueled by affection. If Uncle Ian got me a generous gift, Dad would inevitably send something equally extravagant to Angela, and their birthday gift battles were legendary. It was more of a running joke, a way for them to show their love without ever taking the competition seriously enough to let it turn into genuine rivalry.

Uncle Ian walked over to me, pulling me into a brief, tight hug before kissing my forehead. “Have a good night, sweetheart. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

I watched as he walked out of the garage, the door closing smoothly behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my brand-new bike. Turning towards the house, I almost bumped into Mom, who was standing just inside the doorway, her arms still crossed. “Mom, you scared me,” I said, a slight jump in my voice.

“So, what’s all this?” Mom gestured with a nod towards the mountain of shopping bags piled near the front door, a look of amusement rather than anger on her face, which was definitely a good sign.

“Uncle Ian insisted on buying me a new mountain bike since Dicky decided mine belonged in a scrapyard,” I explained, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. Of course, he hadn’t stopped at just the bike, as I indicated the numerous bags filled with high-tech riding gear.

Mom chuckled, a warm, familiar sound, before pulling me into a hug and kissing my forehead. “Well, you can’t really say no to a gift from your godfather, and you know how much he loves you,” Mom replied, her eyes twinkling. “Johnny’s in the living room. We can watch a movie or something. Just go change. I organized your new clothes in your closet; your old clothes are in a suitcase. We can go through them later and see what we want to keep,” she explained, and I nodded, the prospect of some quiet family time appealing.

Speaking of family, a pang of guilt hit me. I hadn’t called Dad yet. “I should call Dad. He’s probably waiting for my call,” I explained, feeling a wave of remorse for forgetting yesterday. He was the most awesome dad anyone could ask for, and the way he had accepted the changes happening to me without a second thought had only deepened my love for him.

“You should definitely call him. Knowing your dad, he won’t rest easy until he hears your voice,” Mom exclaimed, her tone filled with affection for him. She always spoke so well of Dad, always emphasizing how good he was and what a wonderful father he was. I couldn’t recall her ever saying a single negative word about him.

“I wish Dad would stop worrying so much; it’s not good for him,” I said, a genuine concern for his well-being in my voice. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his worry; I just didn’t want him to live constantly burdened by it. It couldn’t be good for his mental health.

“He can’t help it, sweetheart. We almost lost you when you were born. Also, you’re his youngest child, and now his one and only daughter. Anyway, just call your dad, then change your clothes and come back downstairs. You can keep the pantyhose; they’re yours,” Mom instructed with a gentle smile, and I nodded in agreement.

I walked slowly up the stairs to my room, the exhaustion from the eventful day finally catching up to me. I sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of my bed. I kicked off my heels, gratefully rubbing my sore feet. How does Mom wear these things all the time? I just didn’t understand the appeal of such torture devices. I exhaled deeply, then reached into my purse and pulled out my phone, placing it on the nightstand beside me. Taking another deep breath, I finally called Dad.

“Hi sweetheart,” Dad’s voice came through the phone, warm and gentle—even softer than usual. It was the kind of tone he used when he truly missed someone, a sound that always tugged at my heartstrings.

“Hi Daddy,” I replied, smiling as I leaned back against my bed’s headboard, the familiar comfort of his voice washing over me. Just hearing him made my chest tighten with a familiar warmth and a pang of longing. I already missed him so much when he was away. He always made a special effort to spend quality time with us whenever he was home. He was the kind of dad most people could only dream of having, and I knew how incredibly lucky I was.

“So, how was the dinner?” he asked, his tone carrying that familiar blend of curiosity and genuine care.

“It was… eventful,” I admitted, shaking my head with a small chuckle as the chaotic memories of the evening resurfaced. “Johnny broke up with Chrystal, and you wouldn’t believe how much drama that caused. It was like a scene from a bad soap opera, complete with yelling and dramatic exits.”

Dad let out a knowing sigh on the other end of the line. “I had a feeling that relationship wouldn’t last. Johnny has a good heart, but sometimes he doesn’t see the warning signs until it’s far too late. He’s fiercely loyal, but that can sometimes blind him.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, a silent agreement passing between us across the miles. “Yeah. But at least now he knows. It was pretty final.”

Dad hummed in agreement, a thoughtful sound, before his voice shifted slightly, becoming laced with a familiar concern. “And what about you, sweetheart? How are you feeling? Really feeling?”

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of the recent changes settling upon me. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to burden him with unnecessary worry, especially with him being so far away. “Honestly? It’s been… a lot,” I admitted, exhaling slowly, the word feeling like a vast understatement.

“It feels like everything changed overnight. I’m happy, I really am. But I’m also scared, Daddy. There’s so much to figure out, so many new things to navigate, and the CPS visit is constantly on my mind, a dark cloud hanging over everything. I don’t want to mess this up, Daddy. I don’t want to give them any reason to take me away from Mom.” My voice wavered slightly on the last few words, the underlying fear seeping through.

There was a beat of silence on the other end, a pause that felt both comforting and filled with his unspoken understanding. Then Dad spoke, his voice steady and reassuring, a solid anchor in the sea of my anxieties. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not going anywhere. Your mother and I will make damn sure of that. And I know this is a big change, a significant transition, but you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re all here for you—me, your mom, Johnny, Angela, Uncle Ian, Aunt Carol—everyone who loves you, your entire support system.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold night, easing some of the sharp edges of the fear that had been weighing me down. A wave of gratitude washed over me. “Thanks, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, the relief palpable.

“Of course, baby girl,” he murmured, his tone softening with affection. “I wish I was there to hold you right now, to just sit with you.”

I bit my lip, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I wish you were too.” The distance felt immense in that moment.

Dad sighed deeply, as if he could feel the miles separating us as keenly as I did. Then, in an effort to shift the mood, to bring a little light into the conversation, he cleared his throat. “So, sweetheart, tell me… how do you look? I want to see my beautiful daughter in her new clothes. Describe everything.”

A blush crept up my cheeks at his words, a familiar warmth spreading through me at his unwavering support and love. “You really want to see? It’s just… a blouse and a skirt, really.”

“Of course, I do,” he said without hesitation, his voice filled with genuine interest. “Switch to video, sweetheart. I want to see my little girl. It’s not the same just hearing your voice.”

Smiling at his request, I tapped the screen and switched the call to video. Within moments, Dad’s face appeared, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with a warm and familiar affection. He looked slightly tired, the weariness around his eyes hinting at the late hour in London.

“How’s London?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the phone, getting ready to give him a virtual glimpse of my current attire.

Dad chuckled softly. “Well, it’s late morning here, almost noon. But it’s gloomy as usual—raining a bit.” He shook his head, a familiar grimace on his face. “You know I hate this weather. Makes me miss New York and LA even more. Sunshine is good for the soul, you know?”

I smiled, picturing him looking out at the dreary London sky. “Maybe you should come visit soon. We could use some sunshine here, too.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he said with a wink, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But for now, let me see you properly, sweetheart. Give me a twirl.”

Taking a deep breath, feeling a little self-conscious but wanting to please him, I held the phone in front of me and walked over to my full-length mirror. Holding the phone at an angle where Dad could see both me and my reflection, I adjusted my simple white blouse slightly, smoothing out the fabric of my navy blue skirt before straightening up. “Okay… what do you think?” I asked nervously, turning slowly to give him a full view.

For a long moment, Dad just stared at the screen, his expression unreadable, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Then, his face softened, a wave of emotion washing over his features, and his eyes glistened slightly. “Oh, Carla… you look absolutely adorable,” he said, his voice thick with pride and a deep, paternal love. “I always knew my baby was beautiful, but seeing you like this? You’re stunning, sweetheart. Truly stunning. I’m so incredibly proud of you, of the person you’re becoming.”

His words hit me deep, resonating with a warmth that chased away some of the lingering anxieties. I had to bite my lip to keep from tearing up again. “You really think so?” I whispered, needing his reassurance.

“I don’t think so—I know so,” he said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “And I couldn’t be happier, more blessed, that you are my daughter. My wonderful, courageous daughter.”

I pressed a hand against my chest, overwhelmed with a wave of love for the man who had always been my rock, my unwavering supporter. “I love you, Daddy. So much.”

“I love you too, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of warmth. Then, as if sensing I needed a lighter mood, a familiar smirk suddenly spread across his face. “So, Uncle Ian bought you a bike, huh? A fancy one, I bet.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes heavenward. “Of course, you already know. Nothing gets past you two.”

Dad laughed, a hearty sound that filled my room. “That man never misses a chance to try and one-up me. But you know what this means, don’t you?” A playful challenge entered his tone.

I raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “What?”

“I’m doubling your mother’s child support and tripling your allowance,” he said casually, as if he were discussing the latest stock market trends.

My eyes widened in genuine shock. “Wait, what? Daddy, you don’t have to do that!”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, though I could hear the affection underlying his firmness. “And if you ever need more, for anything at all, all you have to do is call me, sweetheart. Money should be the last thing you ever have to worry about.”

I shook my head in disbelief, a mixture of gratitude and slight embarrassment washing over me. “Daddy, you already give me more than enough—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his smirk widening. “You’re my daughter. You deserve the best. And if Ian thinks he can outdo me with a mere bicycle, then he clearly forgot who he’s dealing with. This is a marathon, not a sprint, my friend.”

I let out a genuine laugh, shaking my head at their ridiculous but endearing rivalry. “You two are completely ridiculous.”

Dad chuckled, the sound warm and comforting, but then his tone sobered slightly, becoming more serious. “But in all seriousness, sweetheart… I just want to make absolutely sure you have everything you need, everything that will make this time easier for you. This transition, everything you’re going through—it’s not easy, and I know that. But I want you to know, deep down, that you never, ever have to hesitate to ask me for anything, okay? Anything at all.”

I nodded, my heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering support and unconditional love. “Okay, Daddy. Thank you… for everything. For always being there.”

He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt expression that reached his eyes. “Anytime, sweetheart. That’s what fathers are for.”

Dad let out a content sigh, watching me through the screen with a soft, warm smile. “You know, sweetheart, this video call isn’t enough. I already miss you too much. It feels like ages since I’ve seen you in person.”

I felt a familiar lump form in my throat at his words, the ache of his absence a constant undercurrent in my days. “I miss you too, Daddy,” I admitted, shifting the phone slightly so I could lean back against my pillows. “It feels weird, not having you around every day, your booming laugh echoing through the house.”

“Well, I’ve decided that I’m not waiting too long to see you,” he said, his voice filled with a sudden certainty that made my heart leap. “I’m coming to LA next week.”

My heart skipped a beat, a surge of pure joy and anticipation flooding through me. “Really? You’re really coming?”

“Really,” he confirmed with a firm nod and a reassuring smile. “I need to spend some quiet time with my daughter. Just you and me, sweetheart. We can do whatever you want.” His eyes softened as he added, “I know everything is moving fast, and I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re dealing with it all on your own. You’re not.”

I felt my chest tighten with emotion, a wave of warmth and relief washing over me at how deeply he cared. “That means a lot, Daddy. I really, really want to see you.”

“You will, baby girl,” he said gently. Then, his expression turned serious, his jaw tightening slightly, a protective glint entering his eyes. “And just so you know, I’m going to be there for the CPS visit too. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I sat up straighter, my stomach flipping with a mixture of relief and a renewed sense of anxiety at the impending meeting. “You are?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I already spoke with my lawyer, and I’ll be bringing him with me. I want you to understand something, Carla.” He leaned in slightly towards the camera, his gaze unwavering and full of fierce determination. “No one—and I mean no one—is going to take you away from your mother. I won’t allow it. We’ll fight them tooth and nail if we have to.”

Tears welled in my eyes, but this time, they weren’t solely from fear. They were tears of overwhelming relief, of knowing that I wouldn’t have to face this daunting and terrifying process alone. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, the gratitude immense.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice filled with a deep, paternal love. “You’re my daughter. It’s my job, my privilege, to protect you. Always.”

I wiped at my eyes quickly, not wanting him to see me cry, wanting to project strength. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of warmth. Then, sensing my exhaustion, he added gently, “Now, get some rest. I want you feeling your best when I see you next week. We have a lot to talk about.”

I nodded, smiling through the lingering tears as I held the phone a little closer to my heart. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, my little princess,” he said with a soft chuckle, the sound a comforting lullaby. “Sweet dreams.”

As the call ended, the screen went dark, and I set my phone down beside me on the nightstand, a profound sense of comfort and security washing over me. No matter what happened next, no matter the challenges that lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain—my dad had my back, completely and unequivocally. And with him, my mom, Johnny, Uncle Ian, Angela, and the rest of my fiercely loving family standing beside me, I wasn’t alone. Not even close.