“Yeah,” she looked down at her hands. “I saw Marcus the other day. He was with someone else. She looked nice.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew Marcus had moved on. He deserved to.
“You did,” I said gently.
“I was so angry at you,” she said, wiping a tear away. “But… I think I get it now. I was drowning, and I thought you were the boat. But I was the one drilling the holes.”
I walked around the counter and hugged her. It was the first time in years she hugged me back without wanting something. She cried into my shoulder, smelling of cheap soap instead of expensive perfume.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she sobbed. “I’m really sorry.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going to give you money, but I’ll buy you lunch.”
She laughed, a wet, hiccupping sound. “I’d like that. I’m starving, and pay day isn’t until Friday.”
We went to the diner on 4th Street. We ate burgers and talked. Not about weddings or houses, but about her job, her crazy roommates, and the book she was reading.
Two years later, Vanessa got married. It wasn’t to Marcus, and it wasn’t a six-figure gala. She met a guy named David, an electrician who made her laugh. They got married in the park. She wore a simple white dress she bought off the rack.
“Thanks for not paying for this,” she whispered.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too, Dad.”
As I sat down and watched her say her vows, I realized that the twist in our story wasn’t that she lost the house or the fiancé. The twist was that she had to lose everything she thought she wanted to find the person she was meant to be. I had almost robbed her of that opportunity by protecting her from the world.
Saving your children doesn’t always mean saving them from trouble. Sometimes, it means letting them fall so they can learn how to stand up on their own.
Moral of the Story:
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