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“You could say that.”

“Daddy, sit down.” Aspen grabs my hand and pulls me toward the chair beside her. “Miss Morgan has lots to tell you about me.”

Blair’s mouth twitches. “She certainly does.”

I sit beside Aspen while Blair settles across from us.

“First and foremost, your daughter is incredible,” Blair begins, smiling warmly at her.

Aspen looks between us like we hung the moon.

“I have to agree with you there.” I reach over and ruffle her hair.

“She’s bright, creative and incredibly observant,” Blair continues. “She notices things other children sometimes miss, and she’s always willing to help someone who needs it.”

Pride settles heavily in my chest.

“I’ve also met Beachy,” she adds. “He kept her company at her desk when she felt nervous on Monday.”

“He sits with me every day,” Aspen says, hugging the stuffed crab against her chest. “He helps me feel safe. Daddy says so.”

Blair’s eyes lift to mine before she reaches for a stack of Aspen’s work.

“This was one of my favorite pieces.”

She hands me a painting filled with bright colors. There’s a beach, a lighthouse and two people standing hand in hand.

“That’s you, Daddy!” Aspen says, pointing to the taller figure.

I stare down at the painting. “This is beautiful, baby girl.”

“The assignment was to paint someone who makes you feel safe,” Blair explains softly. “It looks like she chose you.”

Our eyes meet, and for a second, I can’t find a single fucking word.

I’m constantly wondering whether I’m giving Aspen enough. Enough time. Enough happiness. Whether she feels safe. Whether I’m enough on my own.

Apparently, to her, I am.

My chest tightens.

Blair glances toward Aspen, a playful look crossing her face. “She’s also very gifted at talking during quiet reading time.”

Aspen gasps. “Miss Morgan!”

I laugh, grateful for the change of subject.

* * *

By the time the meeting ends, my head is still spinning over the fact that Blair is my daughter’s teacher.

She walks us into the hallway while Aspen skips a few steps ahead, burning off the last of her energy before the drive to my parents’ house.

“So… Miss Morgan,” I say.

“Don’t.”

My mouth twitches. “I think I like it.”