Chapter Text
He stopped at the grocery store before heading home.
You don’t have that kind of conversation on an empty stomach.
And you definitely don’t have it on a “whatever’s in the fridge” night.
As he grabbed a cart, the list was already forming in his head.
Ground beef.
Potatoes.
Parsley.
Onion.
Breadcrumbs.
Eggs.
Olive oil.
Rosemary.
Paprika.
And for dessert:
Apples.
Cinnamon.
Butter.
Flour.
Brown sugar.
Vanilla.
Like most kids, Jane loved meatballs and potatoes. Sure. But the details mattered. Not plain fries. Oven-baked wedges. Olive oil, rosemary, a little garlic powder. A touch of paprika on top. There was a “crispy outside, soft inside” standard.
He paused, thumb pressing lightly into the plastic wrap of the ground beef.
Tonight.
“Jane,” he muttered to himself. “There’s someone in my life.”
He made a face.
No. Too direct.
He set the meat in the cart and kept walking.
As he passed the dairy aisle, he caught his reflection in the glass doors.
He looked tired.
Tense.
Older than he had that morning.
“Jane… I need to tell you something important.”
Better. But still too adult. Too conference-room.
She’s six. But she’s not six. You have to choose the words carefully. Too simple and she’ll think you’re underestimating her. Too heavy and… she’ll absolutely build a wall.
Standing in line at the register, he tried a third version in his head.
“You know how sometimes people come back into your life… when you didn’t expect them to?”
He paid. Took the bags. Loaded them into the car. Before getting in, he closed his eyes for a second.
“Jane, I… love someone. And that person is… El.”
That was clearer. But she already knows. She knows El. The stories. The photo. She knows Hopper.
The real issue was this:
El isn’t just a photograph anymore.
And saying that out loud meant pulling a child’s fairy tale into reality.
He closed his eyes again before starting the engine. Rested his hands on the steering wheel.
“I will always love you.”
She should already know that. But he would still have to say it.
He started the engine but didn’t move.
“Jane,” he whispered into the empty car. “El isn’t just a story anymore.”
That felt closer.
But the rest?
And I… want to see if we can build something again."
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
What if “again” is too heavy?
He looked at himself in the rearview mirror.
He was afraid of seeing even a flicker of shaken trust in Jane’s eyes.
Finally, he put the car in gear.
When he got home, he tidied up the kitchen first. It was still early.
He put the ground beef into a large bowl. Grated the onion. His eyes burned, but he didn’t stop.
“Jane… you’re the most important person in my life.”
Ground beef, egg, breadcrumbs, salt. As he kneaded the mixture, he tried again.
“There’s room in my heart for someone else, too.”
He stopped.
“That sounds cheap,” he muttered, squeezing his stinging eyes shut.
Trying not to think about the tears that were still technically because of the onion, he finely chopped the parsley.
“I want you to get to know her.”
More honest.
As he pressed his hands into the meat, he paused. Jane would ask questions. A lot of questions.
“How long?”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“What changes for me?”
Be ready.
He shaped the meatballs and lined them up on a tray. Covered them with plastic wrap. Put them in the fridge.
He washed and cut the potatoes into wedges, set them aside.
Moved on to dessert.
He peeled the apples. Cubed them. Sprinkled cinnamon. Vanilla. Paused for a second.
As he arranged the apples in the baking dish, the sentence echoed in his head again.
“Jane, I’m happy. And I want to share that with you.”
That’s good.
As he crumbled the topping between his fingertips, he tried another version.
“This doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
That one would have to be said.
He turned the oven on and slid the dessert inside.
Checked the time.
Two hours until pickup.
He leaned against the counter. The kitchen already smelled like cinnamon.
“Jane,” he said to the empty house, as if rehearsing. “I’m going to tell you a secret.”
He shook his head.
“Not a secret. What secret, you idiot?”
He braced himself against the counter. Took a deep breath. Ran his hands over his face.
The dessert was rising in the oven. The meatballs were resting in the fridge.
The problem wasn’t:
“Jane, there’s someone in my life.”
The problem was:
“Jane… El isn’t just a photograph anymore.”
And that wasn’t an easy thing to process - not even for a genius. If he chose the wrong words, it could feel like an earthquake in her world.
Mike closed his eyes.
Jane knew El.
She knew her last name: Hopper.
She knew she was far away.
Once, she’d said very seriously:
“Dad, let’s go find her.”
For Jane, El was a mythic figure. Real, but unreachable. Distant, but sacred.
He’d seen her draw El as her mother in pictures.
Even though she’d only just met Hopper for the first time at Thanksgiving, she’d hugged him tightly - and fallen asleep against his chest - simply because he was El’s father. Her choice. Just because she loved El.
Mike placed both hands on the counter.
What he was going to say tonight could be hope.
Or fear.
Because there was another possibility:
What if Jane loved El as an idea?
What if turning her into a real person scared her?
“Jane,” he murmured to the empty kitchen.
“You know… El.”
Too soft.
“I found her.”
No.
That sounds like an adventure movie.
“I’ve been talking to her.”
Better.
But the real issue was:
“I want to see her.”
Mike took a deep breath.
Jane would ask something. Definitely.
“How long?”
“Where?”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“When is she coming?”
Or maybe something simpler:
“Really?”
Mike let out a quiet laugh.
That girl had learned to read at four. In this conversation, would she be a child or a prodigy? No way to know. This morning she definitely wasn’t six. But when they’d gone for Thanksgiving, she definitely hadn’t been older than six either.
He inhaled deeply.
Checked the dessert. The top had turned golden.
“Jane,” he said again, clearer this time.
“El is far away. But she isn’t lost anymore.”
And neither am I.
“I love her. And she loves me.”
He paused.
“And… I want you to know her.”
That sentence was critical.
Jane wanted El to be her mother.
But in real life, being “mom” was very different from the fourteen-year-old girl in the photograph.
Another possibility crossed his mind.
What if Jane got overly excited?
What if she immediately said, “When is she coming?”
What if she said, “Call her now!”
And what if-
What if she felt disappointed?
Mike shook his head.
No.
Jane was logical. But she had a heart, too. And yes, she idealized El. But that love was real.
He grabbed a slice of apple from the counter and popped it into his mouth.
“Jane,” he said one last time, like a final rehearsal.
“El isn’t just a story anymore.”
He paused.
“And nothing about you is going to change.”
That one had to be said.
He checked the time.
Half an hour until pickup.
Tonight, Jane would probably talk about Benjamin. About how jealous she was of Clara.
And then-
Mike took a deep breath.
Then he would say the most hopeful and most terrifying sentence of his life:
“Do you remember El?”
She definitely did.
When Mike slid behind the wheel, his hands still smelled faintly like flour. The dessert was out of the oven now, cooling on the counter. All that was left was frying the meatballs and roasting the potatoes.
Good.
Everything was ready.
Except him.
He started the car. On the drive to school, his mind snagged on the same sentence again.
Do you remember El?
It was a ridiculous question, honestly.
Could Jane really have forgotten?
How many times had she picked up that photo from the nightstand?
“How is that really her?” how many times had she asked.
“How old is she in this picture?”
“Was this taken before I was born?”
He sighed at the wheel.
What if tonight… the possibility of that dream becoming real actually landed on the table?
What if the perfect image in Jane’s head cracked?
He pulled up in front of the school. Kids were starting to scatter out into the yard. He parked. Turned off the engine-but didn’t get out.
“Jane,” he said to himself, a final rehearsal.
“El is far away… but she’s not a ghost anymore.”
He paused.
“I’m talking to her.”
That’s good.
“And I want to see her.”
Risky.
“And I want you to meet her.”
Honest.
He rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
The hardest part was this:
Jane already loved El.
But what she loved was a photograph. A story. Her dad’s first love.
A real person-flawed, complicated, adult-
That was different.
The door opened.
Jane came out.
Her backpack was slung over one shoulder, and she was talking to the boy next to her as they walked. Benjamin. Serious face, hands moving like she was making a point. They looked like they were debating-more like an exchange of ideas than a fight. Watching two small kids talk like grown-ups made him snort a laugh.
Jane reached the car. Said one more quick thing to Benjamin, then nodded and walked off. Benjamin stood there with his arms open, watching her go. His hug fantasies had died on the spot. Brave, doing that where her father could see.
Didn’t you do the same thing?
She climbed into the car.
“Dad.”
“Yes, princess?”
“He didn’t get paired with Clara.”
Mike smiled before he could stop himself.
“That’s good.”
“He figured it out on his own while I was gone.”
Mike started the engine.
“Okay. That’s… not a good thing?”
“It’s kind of impressive.”
Mike burst out laughing, genuinely shocked at the word.
Jane looked at him.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing.”
The car rolled forward. Mike noticed his hand was shaking. He tightened his grip on the wheel.
Jane stared out the window, but after a few seconds she turned back.
She tilted her head slightly.
“Dad.”
“Mm?”
“You look like you’re about to tell me something.”
She was watching him too closely.
His fingers clenched harder around the steering wheel.
Trying to keep something from this kid was nearly impossible.
“We’ll talk tonight,” he said, keeping his voice steady.
“Is it a good thing?”
Mike thought for a beat.
“I hope so.”
Jane processed that.
“‘I hope’ isn’t certainty.”
What?
He blinked.
She was absolutely not in six-year-old mode right now.
Great.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
“Life isn’t certainty.”
As the car eased into the garage, the engine noise faded into silence.
The silence felt heavier than it should have.
Jane unbuckled her seatbelt herself. Before opening the door, she waited one second.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Your favorite duo.”
Jane’s eyes went wide.
“YOU'RE THE BEST DAD IN THE WORLD.”
Mike’s smile spread as wide as it could. He was having a full-on power surge right now.
Jane sprinted to the front door and bounced on her toes while she waited for Mike to unlock it. She’d destroy Benjamin in a jealousy crisis, manage a full emotional meltdown, then come back and float off the ground because of meatballs and potatoes.
The door opened. Cold air slipped inside for a second, then gave way to warmth. The cinnamon smell hit the moment they walked in.
Jane stopped.
“You made dessert.”
It wasn’t a question.
Mike shrugged as he grabbed her bag.
“Maybe.”
Jane kicked her shoes off, dropped her backpack-but instead of running straight to her room like usual, she lifted her nose slightly.
“Apple.”
Mike’s brain went, caught.
“Yes.”
Jane walked into the kitchen. Looked at the counter. Saw the crumble cooling in its dish. Her fingers almost moved toward the edge-then she stopped herself.
“Dinner first.”
Mike smiled.
“Hands first.”
“Okay, Michael, okaaaay.”
“Heeey!”
After washing up and changing, Jane came back downstairs and dropped into her chair. She leaned back, didn’t look at the table-she watched him.
Mike pulled the potatoes from the freezer. Spread them on a tray. Drizzled olive oil. Sprinkled the seasonings.
Jane watched like a hawk.
“If there’s too much paprika it’ll be spicy.”
“I know.”
“Last time there was a little too much.”
“Not this time.”
Jane nodded once, satisfied.
The oven opened. Potatoes went in.
Mike leaned against the counter. Dried his hands. Jane was still watching him.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Beyond stupid. The kids outside the extra program are total idiots.”
“Jane… language.”
“Dad, I’m not using that word to hurt them. They’re actually idiots.”
Mike rubbed his temples.
“Jane, it’s still an insult. I don’t want the principal calling me in again.”
“Dad. Dinosaurs lived on this planet and when a meteor hit, most of them died. Right?”
Oh no. She’d started a battle and he was going to lose.
“Yes.”
“Definitely. That’s 'true'. Right?”
“Jane-”
“If we say a meteor hit and dinosaurs died, chickens might get sad, but we’re not hiding the truth just so 'they won’t be sad'.”
She’d activated ultimate mode. She wasn’t six right now.
“Jane-”
“Dad, stop saying my name.”
“Look.” He pushed off the counter and leaned over the table. “You have to keep going with kids your age. Maybe not next year, but the year after that, you can take a test and transfer to a different school. With kids on your level. But… right now, they’re saying that won’t be good for you, baby. We don’t have another choice.”
“What if I become an idiot too?”
“First of all… they’re not idiots. They just don’t think the same way. People are different, Jane. We have to respect differences. Don’t call your classmates idiots. Please don’t make me have to sit across from the principal again.”
“Okay, dad, they can call us freaks and we can just stay quiet. OKAY.”
She crossed her arms and pouted.
“Who said it this time? Tell me. Tell me so I can go complain. I’m talking to someone tomorrow.”
“Not to me. If it was to me, I can answer back. But he can’t.”
“Who?”
“Ben. Last week they called Ben a freak-ass. He said he cried for hours. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t be with him. When he cries, it makes me really sad. He can’t respond right away.”
Her voice didn’t shake.
That was the scary part.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry that happened.” Mike’s voice softened. “Okay… didn’t Benjamin’s family complain?”
“His dad isn’t like you. He said 'they were probably joking'.”
“Baby…” Mike swallowed. “I’m really sorry. I am. I’ll still talk to someone tomorrow, okay?”
Jane got up and walked into his space, wrapping her arms around his waist.
She fit there perfectly.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, princess.”
After a moment, still holding him-
“Speaking of Benjamin… what happened with the thing this morning?”
Jane shrugged.
“Normal.”
“Normal? Is that… good?”
“Yes.”
Mike pulled out a pan and set it on the stove. As he reached for the meatballs in the fridge, he glanced at her.
She was watching him.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“You said we’d talk tonight.”
Mike took a slow breath.
“Yes.”
“I’m ready.”
His stomach dropped.
So proud of you, tiny girl. Dad hopes he’ll be ready too.
He turned back to the pan.
“We’re not starting yet,” he said calmly. “After dinner. Dad’s starving.”
Jane nodded.
“Jane too.”
She looked at the table for a second, eyes distant-like she had something running in the background.
That look… it was El’s look. Thoughtful and innocent at the same time.
If she’d been his biological daughter, she couldn’t have resembled El more.
It still didn’t make sense. How could it?
How could their lives be tied together so tightly that he stayed loyal to her his whole life and his daughter ended up looking like her?
How could he decide on a random waterfall that wasn’t even part of the plan, and she’s there?
How could they start over, get engaged—
and not wake up?
He was terrified, down to his bones, that all of it was a dream.
He needed to call El. Hear her voice. Hear that everything was okay. Hear that she was real.
What time was it?
Almost four-so it was about ten there.
She might be asleep.
He’d let it ring once. If she didn’t answer, he’d hang up immediately.
He moved the browned meatballs onto a plate. Checked how many minutes were left on the potatoes.
“Princess, I need to call my editor. I’m handing potato duty to you. Do not look away.”
“Okay.”
She dragged her chair in front of the oven and sat down, watching the potatoes like a soldier on guard.
Mike went upstairs fast, closed his bedroom door, and called El.
When the phone was in his hand, his thumb hovered for a second.
15:58.
21:58 there.
She might be asleep.
She might be tired.
Maybe she’s reading.
Or maybe…
Maybe she’s waiting.
Her name sat on the screen.
He hit call.
His heart was beating way too fast for no reason. Was he acting like a high school kid? Yes. Did he care? No.
It rang once.
Twice.
Just as he was about to hang up, there was a click.
“Mike?”
Her voice wasn’t tired. Not sleepy. But it was low... and it was sad again.
Mike closed his eyes.
Real.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.” A small pause. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
In the background, a page turned softly. A book.
Mike sat on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t want to bother you, but…” He hesitated.
“I needed to hear your voice.”
Silence.
Short. Not heavy-just full.
“El?”
“I’m here.”
Those two words loosened the knot in Mike’s chest.
“Everything okay?” El asked.
It was a simple question.
Mike’s answer wasn’t.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“I mean… it will be. I hope.”
El caught it instantly.
“With Jane?”
Mike smiled faintly.
“Yeah. We’re close to the talk.”
From downstairs, Jane’s voice floated up:
“DAAAD! Time’s up!”
Mike smiled.
“I have to go. The oven timer went off.”
“Okay.”
“El?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t disappear.”
Half joke.
Half not.
This time El’s voice was clear.
“I’m here, Mike.”
Real.
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
She let out a breath.
“I love you too.”
“See you.”
“Bye.”
The call ended.
He went back downstairs.
Jane was still in her chair, staring through the oven glass.
“I kept watch,” she said, deadly serious.
Mike opened the oven.
“Excellent work.”
Jane hopped down from the chair.
“What did your editor say?”
Mike looked at her. Right. The editor.
“Real,” he said. That’s all.
Jane froze for a second.
Then she rolled her eyes and dragged her chair back to the table.
The answer was so basic she didn’t even dignify it with a response.
Fine.
The first few minutes after the table was set and they started eating passed in complete silence.
Hunger silence.
The scrape of a fork against the plate, the clink of a glass full of cola as it was set down on the table.
Jane took her bites carefully, evaluating everything like it was part of an experiment. She split a potato wedge in half to check the inside, then took a small bite. A slight approving nod followed. No words needed; that was her “passed” stamp.
Mike watched her out of the corner of his eye as he cut off a piece of meatball. There was no trace of her morning grumpiness. She had that faint after-school tiredness, but her mind was still running-you could tell. Every so often her gaze drifted to the edge of the table, like she was lining things up in her head.
Mike could’ve started the conversation right then. The sentences were ready. He’d rehearsed all day. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to break this moment. Meatballs, potatoes, the warmth of the house… some evenings were meant to be just dinner.
When dessert hit the table, Jane’s eyes widened a little, but she didn’t lose control. She took her first spoonful, cracked through the crisp crumble layer, and the cinnamon-steamed apple rose to her face. She let out a small breath.
That breath was satisfaction.
Not childish excitement-deliberate approval.
Mike lifted his glass but didn’t drink. His fingers traced the cool surface. He knew it was time.
Jane slid forward slightly in her chair. Her feet didn’t reach the floor; her knees were pressed to the edge of the seat. She was watching him. Not a waiting look.
A ready one.
Mike cleared his throat softly.
“Is the dessert good?” he asked, fully aware it was a stalling sentence.
Jane nodded. “Good. After the one-time pie disaster, this is very good.”
“That disaster was a year and a half ago. How many more years are you going to bring it up?”
Jane just laughed.
Mike set his fingers on the table. This time, he didn’t look away.
“Jane…”
A small pause. A breath.
“I told you I was going to tell you something today.”
Jane tilted her head slightly. That thoughtful look was back, but her face stayed calm.
He had to say something. But which sentence? Do you remember El? felt too staged. I’m talking to her felt too sharp. There’s someone in my life was wrong.
He drew in a deep breath.
“Sometimes… some people…”
He stopped.
Jane waited. She wasn’t impatient. But she was attentive.
“You know El.”
It wasn’t a question. But it carried one.
Not a flicker of hesitation crossed Jane’s face.
“Of course.”
Mike paused before continuing, trying to control the speed of his heartbeat.
“I’ve always told you stories about her.” His pulse had climbed past the point of control. “You wanted to find her, and you met Hopper last week.”
Jane gave the smallest nod. Her eyes weren’t on the table, they were on her dad.
Mike laced his hands together. His thumbs rubbed against each other. He caught himself and forced them still.
“Jane, what I’m trying to say…” He swallowed. “I mean, El… she isn’t just a photograph anymore.”
The sentence hung in the air.
Jane’s expression didn’t change. But her eyes sharpened.
Mike spoke slowly. Calm. Clear.
“I’m talking to her.”
“How?”
“When I went to Iceland, I saw her. She lives there.”
Jane stood up. Without a word, she pulled the stool to the kitchen sink and washed her hands. Then she went and sat down on the couch in the living room.
Mike did nothing but watch her the whole time. He let her process.
Then he got up, walked over slowly, sat beside her, and turned toward her.
“Did she see you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?”
Mike didn’t dodge.
“Yes.”
Jane’s eyes started to fill, but she still wasn’t crying.
“Does she… love you too?”
“Yes.”
That yes cracked something in Jane’s face.
She went silent for a second.
“Are you going to get married?”
“Would you want us to get married?”
Jane stayed quiet for a moment.
Then:
“Are you going to have a baby?”
Mike’s breath caught.
“What?”
“A baby.” Her voice rose. “When people get married, they make a baby.”
Mike didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t say the wrong thing.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We haven’t talked about that.”
Jane’s lips trembled.
“If you do…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Mike leaned closer.
“Jane.”
Jane shook her head.
“If you do, I…”
She swallowed.
“…I’ll be too much.”
Mike went cold inside.
“What do you mean, too much?”
Jane couldn’t hold the tears anymore.
“A new baby will be small. Real. Yours.”
Mike dropped to his knees immediately, level with her.
“You’re mine too, Jane. Look at me.”
Jane didn’t look.
“You’re my daughter.”
Her shoulders shook slightly, but she still didn’t lift her head.
“This… doesn’t change anything about you.”
Jane lifted her head. Her eyes weren’t full yet-but they were close.
“It changes.”
“No.”
“It changes.”
Her voice was small, but it was certain.
“Jane, look…”
“You’re going to have a new kid.”
It came out suddenly. Not dramatic. Not shouted. Just bare.
Jane’s voice cracked.
“And I…”
She couldn’t continue.
Mike’s heart stopped for a beat.
“Jane…”
"Are you sending me back?"
That was the moment.
That sentence.
That tiny, terrified question.
His stomach dropped so fast it hurt.
“What? What did you say?”
Tears started slipping down Jane’s cheeks now.
“Are you sending me back?” Her voice didn’t rise, but it fell apart. “To the group home? Because… Because… some people send them back..”
Mike couldn’t breathe.
“Jane. No.”
He got off the couch immediately, dropped to his knees in front of her, and held her face in both hands.
“Look at me.”
Jane was shaking her head.
“You chose me.
You walked to me.”
The sentence was heavy. Firm.
“We chose each other. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to be your dad. When…” His eyes flooded and the tears came right after. “When they told me I’d be allowed to see you, I was so excited. I only knew you were a girl. They let me see you and from the first split second I saw you, I didn’t want anything other than to be your father. And you… even though it was impossible, you saw me too.”
His thumbs stroked Jane’s cheeks.
“You are everything to me, Jane. You’re my teammate. my companion. My best friend.”
Jane sobbed.
“If there’s a new baby…”
“Even if there is,” Mike said, his voice shaking, “you’re my daughter. You’re my first. You’re my everything.”
Jane looked at him through tears.
“You’re not going to send me back?”
“Of course not.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.”
“Swear?”
Mike didn’t hesitate.
“I swear.”
Jane’s shoulders shook.
“I’ll be good,” she cried.
“I promise.
I’ll ask fewer questions. I won’t call the kids at school stupid. Please don’t send me back. I don’t want to go there.”
It tore Mike apart.
“No,” he said immediately. “No.” He made sure their eyes met -both of them crying now. “Jane Wheeler. Look at me. No one can take you from me. No one. You’re my daughter. You’re not going to change. You don’t have to be ‘good.’ You only have to be 'you'.”
Jane buried her face in his chest. Her tiny body was shaking.
“I won’t leave you,” Mike said. “No matter who comes. No matter what happens. You’re my everything. You’re my daughter. I’m proud to be your dad.”
Jane cried for a while.
Then, in a very small voice:
“Really?”
Mike rested his forehead against her hair.
“Really.”
They were both trembling on that couch now.
This conversation had started with El.
But right now it was only about one thing:
A little girl’s fear of being abandoned.
And a father trying to rip that fear out by the root.
Jane’s fingers twisted tight in Mike’s T-shirt.
“You’re not sending me back.”
“No.”
“You’re not leaving me.”
“No.”
“Even if there’s a baby?”
Mike closed his eyes.
“Even if there’s a baby.”
Jane finally loosened a little, but she cried a bit more. Then her breathing slowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Then, even smaller:
“Would El love me?”
Mike didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Really. She… she’s been so curious about you.”
“Did she really ask about me?”
“She asked a lot about you. And… if you want, she even wants to talk to you.”
Jane fell quiet. But she wasn’t shaking anymore.
Her eyes were still wet. Her nose was red. Her lashes clumped together. Her small hands had let go of Mike’s shirt, but they were still resting on the fabric-like if she let go completely, something might slip.
“What did she ask about me?” she whispered.
Mike tucked her hair behind her ear.
“She asked about your school. She asked what you like. She asked me to tell her stories-memories-about you.”
Jane’s brows pinched slightly.
“Memories?”
Mike nodded with the smallest smile.
“Yes.”
Jane thought for a few seconds-that quiet, calculating mode that came after crying.
“Did she ask about Ben?”
Mike paused. Smiled.
“I told her a little about you two. And I’m not saying this because I don’t want you to get a big head, but… she did the girl-solidarity thing. She thinks you’re both really sweet.”
A hint of a smile tried to appear at the corner of Jane’s mouth. Then she got serious again.
“Does she love me?”
“Yes,” Mike said calmly. “But…”
He hated the word the second it left his mouth.
Jane’s eyes widened.
“But what?”
Mike continued slowly.
"Look. She’s curious about you. She wants to know you. But the most important thing is…” He stopped and looked her straight in the eyes. “Only if you want.”
Jane’s expression shifted.
“So… if I don’t want to?”
“Then it won’t happen.”
Jane tried to digest that.
“You won’t make me?”
“No.”
“If you have to call her and say ‘Jane doesn’t want to talk to you,’ will she get mad?”
Mike shook his head.
“Of course not.”
Jane grabbed the edge of his shirt again, but this time not out of fear-out of thought.
“I… I don’t know.”
That was honesty.
“You don’t have to know,” Mike said.
Jane rested her head slowly against his chest.
“If I talk to her…”
“Yes?”
“What if she doesn’t love me?”
Mike’s chest tightened again, but his voice stayed steady.
“Then that’s her loss. Because Jane… you’re incredible. And you and me? We’re a team. I don’t do teams where one person gets hurt. I won’t accept a life where you feel unloved and unhappy just because she loves me.”
Jane lifted her head slightly.
“Really?”
“Really. And I’m also sure you won’t have to worry about that.” He swallowed. “Because I know El. I know what she looks like when she loves something… and when she doesn’t. And when it comes to you, what I saw in her was… that she likes you.”
Jane’s breathing was more even now.
“I’m not an orphan,”
She said again, this time without crying.
“You absolutely aren’t. You’re my daughter, and I’m your dad.”
“And I’m not too much.”
“Never.”
“And even if there’s a new baby…”
Mike closed his eyes, but not from fear this time. When he opened them, he locked onto hers with certainty.
“Even if there’s a new baby… you’ll be their big sister. The big sister who protects them, plays with them, teaches them dinosaurs, explains droids, makes them listen to Metallica, and wraps them up with that huge heart of yours.” A small pause. “But you don’t need to think about that right now. We haven’t even talked about it.”
Jane nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
That okay was steadier.
Mike rested his forehead against her hair.
Jane stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Then, in a very small voice:
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If I talk to her… be there.”
Mike didn’t hesitate.
“Always.”
He didn’t even need to think about it.
Mike said, “Always,” and for a few more seconds Jane stayed quiet against his chest. Then she lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were still wet, but the panic was gone now-replaced by curiosity.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Is she still like the photo?”
Mike smiled faintly. “Not really.”
Jane’s brows pulled together.
“Did she get plastic surgery?”
Mike laughed before he could stop himself.
“What? No. She just grew up. But her eyes are the same.”
“How are they the same?”
“When she looks at you it’s like… she actually sees you.”
Jane thought about that.
“Her hair?”
“Longer.”
“Same color?”
“No. Blonde.”
Jane fired off another question immediately.
“Is she really pretty?”
Mike paused.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “But that’s not the most important thing.”
Jane tilted her head.
“What does she do there?”
“She teaches. Works with little kids. And she takes care of chickens.”
Jane’s eyes widened a little.
“SHE TAKES CARE OF EVOLVED T-REXES! THAT’S SO COOL!”
“I completely agree.”
“Are the little kids younger than me?”
“Yes.”
“Does she yell at them?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Jane pulled her knees a little closer to herself.
“Is she happy there?”
Mike went more serious for that one.
“I think… she’s more at peace.”
Jane absorbed that.
“Did she really wonder about me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say my name?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say it as my name, or as her own name?”
Mike laughed.
“Yours, obviously.”
“What did she say when she heard my name was her name?”
Mike hesitated, choosing his words.
“I think… she found it interesting. I don’t know, honey... If you want, you can ask her yourself.”
Jane looked relieved for a beat. Then her mind sped up again.
“Is she coming here?”
Mike took a breath.
“That’s the plan, but it’s not something you can do just by wanting it.”
“Are you going to go see her?”
“Of course.”
Jane’s expression shifted.
“Without me?”
“No. I’d never plan something like that.”
Jane corrected herself right away.
“So… the two of us together?”
“If you want, together.”
Jane went quiet for a second.
“When are we going to talk?”
“Whenever you want. Her time is six hours ahead of ours, so we have to keep that in mind.”
Jane nodded.
“Tomorrow?”
Mike smiled a little.
“Are you ready tomorrow?”
Jane shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“If you don’t know, there’s no rush.”
Jane thought for a few seconds.
“When I talk to her, will you stay with me?”
“Yes.”
Jane’s lips moved slightly, like she was weighing the next question.
“Do I have to do something so she’ll love me?”
Mike shook his head immediately.
“No.”
“Do I have to be smart?”
“You already are.”
“Do I have to behave better?”
“No.”
Jane went quiet again. This time her voice came softer.
“Will she love me the way I am?”
Mike didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Jane let out a long breath.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“If she likes dinosaurs too… that would be good.”
Mike laughed.
“I think she probably does. I mean-she takes care of chickens.”
“True.”
Jane paused, then tossed out one more question fast:
“Did she see my photos?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Did she think I’m pretty?”
“Of course she did.”
Jane shot another one right after:
“What did you do the first time you saw her?”
Mike went quiet for a beat. He remembered.
“I couldn’t talk.”
Jane analyzed that instantly.
“So your heart started going fast.”
“Yeah.”
Jane made a tiny victorious face.
“Like when I see Ben.”
Mike dipped his head.
“If you say so…”
Jane was quiet for a few seconds.
Then, slowly:
“If I talk to her… what should I say first?”
Mike softened.
“Whatever you want.”
“Like… ‘Hi, El’?”
“That works.”
Jane nodded.
“Okay.”
A brief silence settled between them.
Then-
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
Jane locked her eyes onto his.
“I want to think a little first. Before I talk.”
“Of course, princess,” Mike said softly. “As long as you need.”
“I think… I want to go to my room for a bit,” Jane said quietly.
Just thoughtful.
Mike nodded immediately. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t try to hold her there.
“Of course,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”
No pressure. No hovering. No following her upstairs.
She slid off the couch, paused for half a second like she might say something else - then didn’t. She walked with small, steady steps.
Her door closed.
Not slammed.
Just closed.
Mike stayed seated for a few seconds after that. Listening.
Waiting to see if she’d call for him.
She didn’t.
He stood up slowly and went back to the kitchen.
The table still held the aftermath of dinner. Plates. Glasses. Crumbs from the crumble.
Normal things.
He gathered the plates carefully, one by one, stacking them in his hands like something fragile. Because everything suddenly felt fragile.
"Are you sending me back?"
The sentence replayed in his head.
He swallowed.
He had expected questions about El. About love. Maybe even jealousy.
But not that.
Not the group home.
Not that tiny, terrified voice asking if she would be returned like a defective item.
He opened the dishwasher. The click sounded too loud in the quiet house.
Some people send them back.
His jaw tightened.
He loaded the plates mechanically. Forks. Knives. The baking dish. He wiped the table slowly, movements automatic.
“I’ll be good.”
That one broke him.
He stopped mid-motion.
She had offered to shrink herself.
To ask fewer questions.
To be quieter.
To be smaller.
Just to stay.
As if love was something she had to earn.
His vision blurred.
He turned toward the counter, bracing one hand against it.
She thought she was temporary.
Like a guest who had overstayed.
Like something that could be returned if it stopped being convenient.
After everything. After the adoption. After the promises.
Some part of her still believed she could be sent back.
His chest caved in.
He finished wiping the counter because his body needed something to do. Then he threw the cloth onto the surface with anger.
He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down heavily.
And then it hit him fully.
He bent forward, elbows on the kitchen table, hands covering his face.
And he cried.
Not silent tears.
Not dignified.
It came out raw.
Ugly.
Shaking.
He had prepared himself for hard questions about El.
He had not prepared himself for the possibility that his daughter still feared abandonment.
He sobbed into his hands, shoulders trembling, breath breaking.
His chest hurt. Actually hurt.
Like something inside him had been punched open.
“Jane…” he whispered hoarsely into his palms.
The idea of anyone - anyone - ever making her feel disposable made something violent rise inside him.
He wiped at his face roughly, but more tears came.
He let them.
Because tonight wasn’t about El.
It wasn’t about Iceland.
It wasn’t about love or future babies or logistics.
It was about one thing:
A little girl who needed to know she was chosen.
And a father who realized he would spend the rest of his life proving it.
After a while, when the house had settled into quiet, Mike stood up from the kitchen chair.
He wiped his face one last time, took a slow breath, and went upstairs.
Jane’s door was closed.
A thin line of light showed beneath it.
He knocked softly.
A small voice came from under the blanket.
“Come in.”
He opened the door slowly.
Jane was already in bed, turned away from the door, cocooned under her blanket. Only the top of her hair was visible where it spilled over the pillow.
Mike closed the door behind him and walked over quietly.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
He just reached out and gently brushed his fingers over the part of her hair that was visible above the blanket.
She didn’t pull away.
“I just wanted to say something,” he said softly.
No pressure. No urgency.
“I love you more than anything in this world.”
The blanket shifted slightly. He could tell she was listening carefully.
“You are not temporary,” he continued. “You are not conditional. You are not replaceable.”
His voice stayed steady this time.
“You are my daughter. Not because I felt sorry for you. And not because you needed me. But because I needed you. Because I chose you. And I keep choosing you. Every day.”
The blanket moved again.
“And you don’t have to earn that. Not by being quieter. Not by asking fewer questions. Not by being ‘good.’ You just have to be you.”
Silence.
Then the blanket slowly lowered.
Jane turned toward him.
Her eyes were no longer panicked. Just thoughtful. A little tired. A little puffy.
“Really?” she asked quietly.
“Really.”
She pushed herself up into a sitting position.
And then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.
This time it wasn’t a desperate hug.
It was deliberate.
Mike pulled her close immediately, pressing a kiss into her hair.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.
“I know,” she said into his shoulder.
He stayed like that for a while, holding her, feeling her breathing even out.
After a few seconds, she leaned back slightly but didn’t let go completely.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
She hesitated for half a second.
Then:
“I think… I want to talk to her.”
Mike didn’t react too quickly. He didn’t rush it.
“Okay,” he said gently.
“Not right now,” she added quickly. “But soon.”
“That’s perfect.”
Jane nodded once, small and certain.
Then she slipped off the bed.
“I think…” she hesitated, like she was organizing her thoughts again. “I’m going to build something.”
He smiled.
“A castle?”
She nodded.
“I’ll make something complicated.”
“I have no doubt.”
She stepped closer to him, stood on her toes, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t distracted.
It was intentional.
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you more,” he answered.
Halfway there she stopped.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“If she likes LEGO too… that’s another point.”
Mike grinned.
“I’ll ask.”
Jane gave a decisive nod.
Then she disappeared toward the activity room.
A few seconds later, the familiar sound of plastic pieces pouring out onto the floor echoed through the house.
Order. Structure. Creation.
When emotions got too big, she built things she could control.
Her way of thinking.
Mike stayed where he was for a moment longer, listening.
No panic.
No crying.
Just the steady click of pieces locking together.
He let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The house felt steady again.
So did she.
And maybe, finally, so did he.