“But then I saw your aunt’s post,” he said. “And I thought… maybe there’s a girl out there who needs what I’ve got left to give. Maybe I need her too.”
Sita’s eyes filled.
“So,” he finished, clearing his throat, “every year I dance with you, Sita, I feel like I’m giving my little girl the dance I never got to give her. And I’m giving you a dad you didn’t get to have. We… kind of fix something in each other.”
She hugged him so hard he almost dropped the corsage box.
“You’re the best daddy I’ve ever had,” she muffled into his chest.
He laughed, blinking back tears.
“I’m the only daddy you’ve ever had,” he said.
“That’s what makes you the best,” she shot back.
He lost the battle with his tears right then.
Sita still keeps the corsage from that first dance.
It’s dried now. Faded. Pressed between two pages of a book she never actually finished reading because she got distracted.
Next to it is a photo.
A little girl in a pink dress standing on the boots of a man in a borrowed suit, his hands holding hers steady as they move together under a string of paper hearts.