Page 119 of Scars and Crowns

A tiny smile.

"You even let me win at Ludo."

"I absolutely do not let you win." My lips stretches into a smile.

"You do."

"I lose with dignity."

"You lose because I beat you."

I laugh helplessly. "I stand corrected." She nods, satisfied that justice has been served. Then her expression turns serious again. The kind of serious only children manage. The kind that comes straight from the heart without stopping to wonder whether it's too much.

"I feel safe when you're here." The words hit harder than anything before them. "So . . . " She takes a tiny breath. "I wanted everyone at school to know who my hero is."

I swallow. Hard.Before I can find any words, she smiles. Small. Certain.

"And . . . " Her eyes shine. "You're my Papa." Everything inside me stops.

The room. The morning. The palace. The world itself seems to fall completely silent.

Papa.

Not Mister. Not almost. Not someday. Now.

Chosen. Deliberately. Freely.

I don't even realize my vision has blurred until her face becomes difficult to see. My throat closes so completely that speaking isn't an option anymore. I simply pull her into my arms. She fits there so naturally it's almost frightening. Like this space beside my heart has always belonged to her and we've only just figured it out. I hold her tighter than I mean to.

My hand slides through her hair. I breathe in the familiar scent of baby shampoo and crayons and sunshine. Across the room, I lift my eyes. Anamika is crying. She isn't trying to hide it. One hand covers her mouth. The other presses against her own heart. She's smiling through tears that keep slipping down her cheeks anyway.

Our eyes meet. There's something in hers I've never seen before. Not relief. Not gratitude. Something deeper. Like she's watching two people she loves find each other at exactly the moment they were always meant to.

"I love you, Princess." The words scrape out of me. Hoarse. Unsteady.

"So much." I kiss the top of her head. "So much more than I know how to explain."

She wraps her arms tighter around my neck. "You already chose us." Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. "I just wanted you to know . . . " She squeezes me with all the strength a five-year-old possesses. " . . . I choose you too."

I close my eyes. For years I've signed documents worth crores without my hand shaking. I've addressed thousands of people without losing my voice. I've buried my father. I've stood before councils determined to challenge every decision I make.

Nothing . . . Nothing has ever undone me like one little girl choosing to call me Papa, well except when I saw Anamika after years or when she said she felt the same way as I do. But this . . . this is so special.

Something settles quietly inside me.

This is my daughter. Not because blood says so. Because she does.

Because she looked at every man in the world she could have chosen and somehow decided I was the one she wanted waiting outside classrooms, reading bedtime stories, fixing scraped knees and checking monsters under beds.

I don't think there's a greater honour anyone could ever hand another person. Whatever this life demands from me after today . . . Whatever storms still wait for us . . . Whatever truths Anamika hasn't yet found the strength to tell me . . . Whatever battles this family still has left to fight . . . They won't fight them alone.

Not while I'm breathing. Not while I have any strength left to stand between them and the world. Sara finally leans back just enough to look at my face. "You cried."

"I did. A little bit." I chuckle softly, "A lot, actually."

She beams. "I knew you would."

"Did you?"