My Daughter Was Laughed at for Standing Alone at the Father-Daughter Dance – Until a Dozen Marines Entered the Gym
I nodded, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat. Keith’s voice echoed in my head: “I’ll take her to every father-daughter dance, Jill. Every one. I promise.”
He’d promised, and now it was on me to keep his promise.
She handed me her shoes. “I miss Daddy. He used to tie up my shoes.”
I knelt and laced them up, double-knotting like Keith always did. “He’d say you look beautiful. And he’d be right, Katie-girl.”
My daughter smiled, a flicker of her old self. She pinned her “Daddy’s Girl” badge over her heart.
Keith’s voice echoed in my head.
***
Downstairs, I grabbed my purse and coat, ignoring the stack of unpaid bills on the counter and the casserole dishes from neighbors we barely knew.
Katie hesitated at the door, glancing back down the hall, maybe hoping, for one impossible second, to see Keith appear and scoop her up in his arms.
The drive to school was quiet. The radio played softly, one of Keith’s favorite songs.
I kept my eyes on the road, blinking back tears when I saw Katie’s reflection in the window, lips moving as she mouthed the lyrics.
***
Outside the elementary school, the parking lot was packed. Cars lined the curb, and clusters of dads waited in the cold, laughing and tossing little girls into the air.
Katie hesitated at the door.
Their joy felt almost cruel. I squeezed Katie’s hand.
“Ready?” I asked, voice thin.
“I think so, Mom.”
Inside, the gym was a carnival of color, streamers, pink and silver balloons, a photo booth with silly props. Pop music thumped, bouncing off the walls. Fathers and daughters spun beneath a disco ball, little shoes flashing.
Katie’s steps slowed as we entered.
“Ready?”
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