“Katie, do you need any help?” I called from the hall. She didn’t answer right away.
When I peeked into her room, I found her sitting on the bed, staring at her reflection in the closet mirror. She was wearing the dress Keith picked out last spring—the one she called her “twirling dress.”
“Mom?” she asked. Does it still count if Daddy can’t come with me?
My chest tightened. I sat down beside her and gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
“Of course it counts, sweetheart. Your daddy would want you to shine tonight. So that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
My daughter pressed her lips together, thoughtful.
“I want to honor him. Even if it’s just the two of us.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. Keith’s voice echoed in my mind:
“I’ll take her to every father-daughter dance, Jill. Every single one. I promise.”
He’d made that promise, and now it was up to me to keep it.
She handed me her shoes.
“I miss Daddy. He used to tie my shoes.”
I knelt down and tied them for her, making a double knot the way Keith always did.
“He’d say you look beautiful. And he’d be right, Katie.”
She smiled—a brief glimpse of the little girl she used to be. Then she pinned her **“Daddy’s Girl”** badge over her heart.
Downstairs, I grabbed my purse and coat, ignoring the pile of unpaid bills on the counter and the containers of food brought to us by neighbors we barely knew.
Katie hesitated in the doorway, staring down the hall—as if hoping, for just one impossible second, that Keith would appear and sweep her off her feet.
The drive to school was quiet. The radio played softly—one of Keith’s favorite songs.
I kept my eyes on the road, blinking back tears when I saw Katie’s reflection in the window, her lips moving as she sang along.
Outside the elementary school, the parking lot was packed. Cars lined the curb, and groups of parents stood in the cold, laughing and tossing their daughters in the air.
Their happiness felt almost cruel. I squeezed Katie’s hand.
“Ready?” I asked, my voice weak.
“I think so, Mom.”
Inside, the gym was bursting with color—streamers, pink and silver balloons, a photo booth overflowing with fun props. Pop music blasted off the walls. Parents and daughters twirled under a disco ball, their little shoes glittering.
Katie slowed down as she walked in.
“Do you see any of your friends?” I asked, glancing around.
“They’re all busy with their dads.”
We made our way along the edge of the dance floor, keeping close to the wall. Every few steps, people glanced at us—at my simple black dress and Katie’s overly brave smile.
A girl from Katie’s class, Molly, waved from across the room as her dad twirled her awkwardly in a waltz.
“Hi, Katie!” she called. Her dad gave us a quick, polite nod.
Katie smiled, but didn’t move.
We found a spot by the mats. I sat down, and Katie curled up beside me, knees drawn up, her badge reflecting the colorful lights.
She watched the dance floor, her eyes shining with hope. But when a slow song started, the weight of missing Keith seemed to make her shrink even further.
“Mom?” she whispered. “Maybe… maybe we should go home.”
That almost broke my heart. I took her hand, squeezing it until my knuckles ached.
“Let’s just rest for a minute, love,” I said.
Just then, a group of mothers walked past us, their perfume wafting through the air. Leading the way was Cassidy, the queen of the PTA—perfect as ever.
She saw us and stopped, her expression gentle, almost pitying.
“Poor thing,” she said, loud enough for others to hear. Events for complete families are always difficult for children from… well, you know… single-parent families.
I tensed, my pulse pounding in my ears.
