There was a pause.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly, “I had a little girl once. She’d be about your daughter’s age now if… if life had gone different. I can’t change what happened to her. But maybe I can show up for someone else’s girl.”
My throat closed.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll find out.”
I hung up and started making calls.
Texts. Messages in local mom groups.
At first, it trickled in.
“My ex moved to another state and never calls. My daughter cried when she saw that flyer.”
“My husband died last year. I didn’t have the heart to ask the school.”
“My girl’s donor was anonymous. She’s starting to notice other kids’ dads.”
One week later, I had a list.
Forty-seven names.
Forty-seven fatherless girls between five and twelve who were “ineligible” for a dance at their own school.
I sent it to Robert.
His reply came less than five minutes later.
We’ve got fifty-three brothers confirmed. Every girl gets a date. Tell them to pick out their prettiest dresses. We’ll handle the rest.
I stared at the screen, laughing and crying at the same time.
The school was… not thrilled.