I held the phone tightly.
Daniel didn't speak immediately.
Neither did I.
There was so much history between two simple greetings.
Finally, he asked whether Iris was okay.
I looked at her.
"She's here."
"Can I speak with her?"
I handed the phone back.
Iris accepted it with both hands.
"Hello?"
His voice softened.
"Hello, Iris."
She looked down.
"Hi."
For a few seconds, neither of them knew what to say.
Then he asked how old she was.
"Seventeen."
He was quiet.
"Seventeen already."
Iris gave a small smile.
"Yes."
He asked about school.
She told him she was finishing her senior year.
He asked what subjects she liked.
She said she enjoyed literature and history.
He asked whether she had plans for college.
She told him she was still deciding.
The questions were ordinary.
That was what made them painful.
These were the conversations a father might have had with his daughter over years of growing up.
But Daniel was hearing the answers for the first time.
Eventually, Iris asked him something.
"Did you know about me?"
His answer came immediately.
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"From before I was born?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
The word made her eyes fill.
He continued.
"I knew your mother was expecting you. I wanted to be there when you arrived."
Iris looked at the photograph on the table.
"You were."
There was a pause.
"She showed you the picture?"
"Yes."
Daniel exhaled.
"I remember that day."
Iris looked down.
"Do you remember holding me?"
"I remember everything I can about that day."
He sounded emotional.
Iris asked why he hadn't been part of her childhood.
Daniel didn't blame me.
He didn't become angry.
He simply explained that he had tried to contact me after we separated.
He said he had sent letters.
He had called.
He had waited.
But he hadn't wanted to turn the situation into a fight.
He believed I needed time.
And after a while, he didn't know what else to do.
I listened.
There were things in his explanation that hurt.
Not because he was accusing me.
Because he wasn't.
Iris asked whether he had ever stopped thinking about her.
"No."
His answer was quiet.
"Never."
She pressed her lips together.
"Did you celebrate my birthdays?"
There was a pause.
"Yes."
I looked up.
Daniel continued.
"I didn't know whether you were having a party or what you liked, but I thought about you every year."
Iris looked at the photograph again.
"Did you buy me presents?"
He laughed softly.
"Once, I bought a little blue sweater."
My heart stopped.
Iris noticed my expression.
"What?"
Daniel continued.
"I bought it before you were born. I kept it for a long time."
Iris looked at me.
I remembered that sweater.
Not the one in our storage box.
A different one.
Small.
Blue.
I remembered seeing it on the bed in the apartment before everything ended.
I hadn't known what happened to it.
Daniel said he still had it.
Iris wiped her eyes.
"Why?"
He took a breath.
"Because I didn't know whether I'd ever get the chance to give it to you."
She looked away.
I couldn't listen anymore without feeling the weight of every year.
Iris asked whether he had another family.
Daniel explained that he had not been married.
He had worked, moved homes, and tried to build a life.
He said there had been relationships, but nothing that changed the fact that he had a daughter he had never stopped hoping to meet.
Iris was quiet.
Then she asked whether he would like to see her.
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
I could hear him breathing.
"More than anything."
She looked at me.
I nodded.
She turned back to the phone.
"Maybe we could meet."
Daniel's voice broke slightly.
"I would like that."
They discussed a simple place.
A public café.
Somewhere neither of them would feel trapped.
They agreed that Iris could choose the day.
Then she asked whether he still lived nearby.
He said he did.
He had not moved far from the area.
Iris looked surprised.
"You've been close?"
"Yes."
She lowered her eyes.
I knew what she was thinking.
All those years.
All those birthdays.
All those school events.
A person who might have been close enough to drive past our neighborhood.
After a few more minutes, Daniel asked whether he could speak to me.
Iris handed me the phone.
I held it against my ear.
"Claire."
"Daniel."
He was quiet.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
"Thank you for letting her call."
I closed my eyes.
"I should have done it years ago."
He didn't argue.
He didn't tell me I was right.
He simply said he hoped we could keep Iris's needs at the center of whatever happened next.
I agreed.
Before ending the call, he asked whether Iris had enjoyed prom.
I looked at her.
She was sitting with the old photograph in her hand.
"She did," I answered.
"Good."
His voice softened.
"I wish I could have seen her in her dress."
I looked at the flowers Ryan had brought.
Then at my daughter.
"She looked beautiful."
Daniel was silent for a moment.
Then he said goodbye.
I handed the phone back to Iris.
She read the call duration.
Then she smiled faintly.
"That was my dad."
I nodded.
"Yes."
She looked at the photograph.
For the first time, she said his name without asking me whether it was correct.
"Daniel."
It sounded strange in our kitchen.
But it also sounded right.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: My Daughter Chose a Place to Meet the Father She Had Never Known, While I Prepared to Face the Consequences of the Years I Had Taken Away
I Thought My Daughter Finally Had the Perfect Night, Until Her Prom Date Walked Into Our House With Something to Say
Part 11 of 20
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