I nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. Keith’s voice echoed in my mind: “I’ll take her to every father-daughter dance, Jill. Every one. I promise.”
He had made that promise, and now it was up to me to keep it.
She handed me her shoes. “I miss Daddy. He used to tie up my shoes.”
I knelt and tied them, double-knotting just like Keith always did. “He’d say you look beautiful. And he’d be right, Katie-girl.”
She smiled—a brief glimpse of her old self. Then she pinned her “Daddy’s Girl” badge over her heart.
Downstairs, I grabbed my purse and coat, ignoring the pile of unpaid bills on the counter and the casserole dishes from neighbors we barely knew.
Katie hesitated at the door, glancing down the hallway—as if hoping, just for one impossible second, that Keith would appear and sweep her into his arms.
The drive to school was quiet. The radio played softly—one of Keith’s favorite songs.
I kept my eyes on the road, blinking away tears when I caught Katie’s reflection in the window, her lips moving as she mouthed the lyrics.
Outside the elementary school, the parking lot was crowded. Cars lined the curb, and groups of dads stood in the cold, laughing and lifting their daughters into the air.
Their happiness felt almost cruel. I squeezed Katie’s hand.
“Ready?” I asked, my voice thin.
“I think so, Mom.”
Inside, the gym burst with color—streamers, pink and silver balloons, a photo booth filled with silly props. Pop music pulsed against the walls. Fathers and daughters twirled under a disco ball, little shoes flashing.
Katie slowed as we stepped inside.w
