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“Mommy was just getting a little emotional,” I said to her with a wide smile. “Did you finish your painting before you went to bed?”
She nodded, brightening up incredibly at the memory of her painting. “Yeah! Wanna see?”
“Of course,” I stated, then followed her up to her room. Painting was a new thing for my daughter, which Nick discovered that day at the strip mall. There’d been an art store, and Violet was bouncing around, begging to go in. Nick also bought her a painting set, and my daughter had been excited to start a new painting. She’d been on it for a few days, with Amy occasionally helping her.
The canvas was set up on one side of the bedroom, and I knew the paint stains on the carpet would take forever to get out, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t seen my daughter so happy about a gift in a long time. I knew she sometimes liked to draw, but I never knew she was that into art.
“Probably gets it from her mom,” Nick had said, shooting me a wink.
I shook the thought off, sitting and analyzing my daughter’s painting. It looked like four stick figures around a brown circle. The image was crude, but she’d taken her time to color between the lines.
“This is beautiful, sweetheart,” I complimented. “What is it?”
“It’s us,” she responded, and I frowned.
“Us?” There were four people in the picture. And then it hit me.
Itwasus, back at Ingrid’s house, sitting at the dinner table. I could see she’d tried to get the image of our seating arrangement, Ingrid and me on one side and Nick holding his daughter and her perfectly styled ponytails in his lap on the other side.
I felt the tears springing to my eyes again and slapped my hands over my mouth, choking back the sob that threatened to explode out of me. To think that was only about a week ago, though it felt like a lifetime.
Everything had seemed so simple then, so nice and neat. We were all sitting around the dinner table, having dinner with conversations that flowed seamlessly. Ingrid and I were talking about recipes, and Nick was playing with his daughter while peripherally paying attention to the conversation. What’s more, the food was amazing. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings I could remember, and I’d promised Ingrid that we would do it again.
Except now, I didn’t know if that would ever happen again. The further away I stayed from Nick, the better it was for my mental health. But this wasn’t necessarily about me. We had his daughter to think about too.
I glanced down at my daughter, who was still awaiting further comments about her painting. “It’s really beautiful, sweetheart.” My voice cracked around the words, but I held it together, clearing my throat. “You really made this?”
She nodded, her pigtails slapping her chin as she did.
“Oh, sweetie.” I leaned down and gathered her into my arms. She held me tight around the waist and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too.” The tears were flowing down my cheeks now. For all his faults, Nick had done one thing right. He’d given me the sweetest, most beautiful daughter I could ever dream of. And he was a good father to her as well. Everything I’d been scared of regarding their relationship hadn’t happened.
I thought he would be cold, but he was super affectionate, almost to the point of spoiling her. And Violet loved him too. He also tried as much as possible to keep her out of the spotlight, once nearly growling at a reporter when he approached the three of us in public. He’d threatened to destroy the man’s career if he didn’t delete the pictures, and while I usually didn’t condone violence, I could understand. We both didn’t want her to be exposed to so much madness at such a young age, and our parenting styles matched on that front.
There was zero doubt that Nick and Violet’s relationship was genuine. And with that, she deserved to know she had a father.
I pulled back, reaching out to caress her hair before I decided to rip off the bandaid. “Honey, how would you feel if I told you that Nick was your father?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you gonna marry Nick?”
“No, sweetie,” I said.
Some confusion spread across her face, and she asked, “How could Nick be my father if you’re not marrying him?”
“That’s not entirely how it works, sweetie,” I told her. “I don’t have to marry Nick for him to be your father. I’ll explain more when you’re older, but what’s important right now is that Nick is your father. And he wants to be a dad to you…very much.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head for a little bit, and then it was like an idea hit her. “Like Hillary and Bob’s parents?”
I didn’t know who Hillary and Bob were, but I assumed they had divorced parents, so I nodded. “Yeah, like that. We both love you, and we’ll both take care of you no matter what. But we won’t be married.”
“But don’t you like Nick, Mommy?”
“No, honey, we like each other,” I explained easily, “and we love you very much. We just don’t want to marry each other. We’re better off as friends.”
“Oh. Okay, Mommy.” I didn’t think she completely understood, but her expression showed she was willing to accept the explanation. Perhaps, when she was older, I would explain to her better how our blended family worked, but for now, I was satisfied that she wasn’t disputing it.
“I do want Nick to be my daddy.” She perked up right before she asked, “Can I call him Dad, Mommy?”
