DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
Stephen W. Brodie
It was raining. And Mommy was away
on business. Again.
And in the darkness of her own room,
she heard Daddy’s familiar voice. Felt
his closeness, his warmth around her.
On her.
Yes. I love you, Daddy.
Then she bit her lip so as not to cry.
Daddy hated it when she cried. He
liked her to whisper sweet things in
his ear. He said she was special.
Was she?
She wasn’t sure.
She wanted to make Daddy happy and
she knew that he was happiest when
they “cuddled”. He said that when you
love someone, you sometimes have to
do things that you may not want to do,
to make them happy. And of course
she loved her daddy.
So she grew to accept these special
moments, here in the dark, just Daddy
and her, even looking forward to them
at times.
And she would smile, and whisper sweet
things in his ear, and he would be happy.
So she was happy too.
And when he had gone to sleep, she lay
awake in bed,
whispering those four words over
and over to herself...
I love you, Daddy.
I love you, Daddy.
Wondering what they meant.
