Page 67 of Wings
She turned that radiant smile on me. "Like us. We're celebrating too."
"What are we celebrating?"
She thought about it, head tilted. "Being together. Being safe. Being here instead of worried about stupid Serpents." Her voice darkened on the last words.
"Hey." I sat up, catching her chin. "No Serpents today, remember? They don't exist here."
"Right. Sorry." She shook her head like clearing cobwebs. "It's just—"
"I know." I pulled her against my side, her head finding that perfect spot on my shoulder. "But today isn't about them. It's about butterflies and sunshine and seeing how many sandwiches my baby girl can eat."
"I've had two!" she protested, laughing.
"Rookie numbers." I reached for another sandwich. "I made eight."
We finished lunch slowly, her chattering about the different butterflies, making up names for them. The orange one became Fredrick. A blue became Princess Sparkles. The moth that dared approach got designated Mr. Grumpy Wings, which made me snort water up my nose.
When the sandwiches were demolished and the cookies discovered with appropriate squealing, I pulled out my secret weapon.
"Bubbles!" She snatched them from my hand, already scrambling to her feet. "I haven't blown bubbles in forever!"
"Time to fix that!"
She was off before I could say more, dress flying as she ran into the meadow. The wand emerged dripping, and her first breath produced a stream of iridescent spheres that caught the light like fairy magic. Her laugh echoed off the rocks as she chased them, spinning and reaching.
I leaned back on the blanket, content to watch her play. This was what she needed—not just the escape from stress, but permission to be young. To embrace the little girl who'd been buried under bills and fear and responsibility too heavy for her shoulders.
Twenty minutes later, she returned breathless and glowing, grass stains on her dress and pure joy on her face. Withoutasking, she crawled into my lap, back against my chest, head tucked under my chin.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For all of this. For knowing what I needed."
"Not done yet." I reached behind me for the final surprise. "Look what else Daddy brought."
The coloring book appeared like magic—thick, quality paper featuring intricate butterfly and flower designs. The kind made for adults but perfect for little girls who needed to create beauty. The pack of colored pencils beside it was the good kind, the ones that laid down smooth and bright.
She didn't speak. Couldn't, from the way her throat worked. Her fingers traced the cover reverently, then clutched both items to her chest like treasure.
"For here?" Her voice came out tiny, hopeful.
"For wherever my little girl wants to color." I pressed a kiss to her temple. "Here, home, the clubhouse. Wherever you need to make something beautiful."
The tears came then, silent but steady. Not sadness—I'd learned the difference. These were overwhelm tears, the kind that happened when emotion got too big for her body to contain.
"Hey, sweet girl. Talk to me."
"It's just—" She turned in my lap, facing me with wet cheeks and shining eyes. "You don't want to fix me or change me. You just . . . love me."
"Every part," I confirmed, thumbing away her tears. "The brave nurse who spots threats. The little girl who needs butterflies. The woman who takes my breath away. All of you, angel."
She kissed me then, soft and sweet with an edge of desperation. Tasted like strawberry jam and gratitude and something deeper I wasn't ready to name. When she pulled back, her eyes had that determined glint.
"I'm going to color you the most beautiful butterfly," she declared. "For your office. So you can look at it and remember today and know how much I love you."
"Can't wait to see it."
She scrambled off my lap, settling on her stomach with the book open before her. Feet kicked in the air, tongue poking out in concentration, she became absorbed in selecting the perfect first pencil.
I watched her work, this complex, beautiful woman who trusted me with her vulnerable spaces. The afternoon sun painted gold highlights in her hair. A butterfly landed on the blanket near her elbow, wings matching the one she was carefully shading purple.
