My Father Never Lied

It all began, in my memory, on my fourth birthday. I was on my father’s lap in my pale yellow nightgown, listening to him read my favorite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast. I couldn’t help but smile happily as he closed the book, for I loved happy endings. I was so happy that Belle had been reunited with her father. At that age, I could truthfully say that Belle was my hero. What she did for her father… well, given the chance, I would do the same for my own. I looked up to my father, beaming at him.
“Thank you daddy,” My eyes clouded with thought, but my smile didn’t falter, “Daddy? What would you do if something happened to me?” My soft voice was conversational as I snuggled up into his lap, his arm around me. I listened to his surprised, forced laughter as he squeezed me gently.
His green eyes met my own dark blue gaze, “If something ever happened to you… If you were in the hospital, I’d stay there with you the entire time. If you were taken away from me, I’d find you myself – without the help of anyone – and bring you back to me. If you were… dead… I would probably kill myself,” He said firmly, returning a fraction of my grin. It was obvious that he wasn’t comfortable discussing my death, although he didn’t seem to mind the question, even though I recognize now that it is not a normal one. But I knew that he wasn’t lying to me. Then again, I had no reason to not believe my father. He had not once lied to me.
I smiled softly and laid my small head on his chest, closing my eyes as he stroked my hair, shoulder-length and brunette, like my mother’s. My eyes did not belong to anyone of my family. But then again, I was young - they’d have time to change. Together, we sat there still; silently listening to the other’s rhythmic breathing. We must have laid there for longer than we thought, because my mother walked in, jolting me from an almost-sleep, and smiled at us, her long, dark hair almost down to her waist.
“Alright you two, time for bed!” She grinned at my father as he picked me up and cradled me in his arms, carrying me off to bed, laughing at my squealed protests.
“Your mother’s right, Becca,” He checked his watch, “It’s already nine thirty!” It was obvious that even he was surprised at how late it was. My protests turned to giggles as he flew me around my room, laughing as he set me into bed and began tickling me. He stopped and pulled the covers over me gently, his eyes turned warm and gentle again, “Night, sweetheart, I love you. Sweet dreams and happy birthday,” He whispered, kissing my forehead.
I smiled back at him, my eyes giving him full access to my feeling of admiration for him. Once again, our eyes met, and love in its purest, rawest form sparked between us silently. Only we could see it, although whether either of us recognized it at the time, I will never know. “I love you too, daddy!” I grinned happily at him before he turned to see my mother in the doorway, smiling softly.
“Ben,” She said gently but sternly, “Let the girl sleep,” There was amusement in her ice-colored eyes, but they were heavily guarded, and even I could tell that there must have been something she wanted to talk to him about. She blew a kiss to me as she watched my father kiss my forehead one more time before turning the light out, turning on the small, unicorn-shaped nightlight, and closing the door behind him.
I stared at the dark shape of the door, mystified. Mommy had never acted this strange and distant in all of my four years. But although my parents’ actions weren’t making sense to me, I did not have long to think about it as I stared at the wild, beautiful horned horse of my fantasies before sleep consumed me.