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It had been a rough night, and now it was an even rougher morning. Sylus was exhausted as he paced around his daughter’s room, carrying her in his arms as he attempted to soothe the sick child.
“Why do I have chicken pox?” she asked, voice weak and tired as she buried her face into her father’s shoulder. She continued listlessly, “…I didn’t play with a chicken…”
“It’s just a name, baby,” Sylus explained gently, his hand rubbing the back of her head soothingly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The girl whined softly in discomfort.
“Luckily, you’ll only get this once,” he continued, though his words didn’t seem to offer any comfort to the ill toddler.
“I want Mommy,” she said suddenly, voice on the verge of breaking. She rubbed her face against her father’s shoulder in frustration, crying harder when Sylus discouraged her for fear of her scarring. She started crying louder. “Daddy, I want Mommy!”
“I know you do, baby,” he said patiently, “but Mommy has an important presentation to give today. She will be home later.”
He could feel his shoulder wet with his daughter’s tears, and this was one of those rare moments Sylus felt utterly helpless. He continued calmly, hiding his own hurt, “Would you settle for Daddy instead?”
There was a series of quiet sniffling before he heard the softest and most reluctant, “Okay...”
“Good girl,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head in comfort. He continued to rub her back, his body swaying slowly to soothe her. He walked to the center of her room, settling down in the large canopy bed with her laying on top of him as he reclined against some pillows. He hummed gently, his voice reassuring, “It will be okay. Daddy will take care of you.”
He heard her shallow breathing, and then she cried softly. “Mm… Daddy… I feel… hot…”
He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, feeling it was a little warmer than usual. He sighed as he stood up and carried her to the bathroom, where he retrieved a small washcloth. He soaked it under some cool running water from the sink faucet before he wiped his daughter’s face clean. He rinsed it again and folded it in half, letting it rest over her forehead as he carried her back to bed.
“Does it feel a little better now, baby?”
“…a little…”
Sylus nodded once as he settled back into bed. He hummed her favorite lullaby, watching despondently as she struggled to sleep in his arms. She clung to him tightly, her tiny hands holding two fistfuls of his shirt before Sylus gently pried her fingers loose. He lay her down next to him, letting her rest comfortably on her side, curling up close to him. As Sylus leaned on his side, elbow propping his arm up, his chin resting in his hand while he peered down at his sick daughter, he recalled the first time he took care of her when she was sick.
Barely four months old, still so tiny and helpless and having her first fever. It was one of the few instances where he had felt utterly powerless, unable to do anything to help his sick child.
Sylus reached for his daughter’s hand, holding onto it with his fingers. It was so small next to his own hand, but he remembered when it was much smaller. She was only a few hours old when her tiny hand attempted to hold his finger. She was already his whole world before she was even born, but from that moment, everything had suddenly felt so real, that she was here and she was his.
His precious little daughter, perhaps the only other person in the world besides her mother who had such a strong hold on his heart. For her, he would do the impossible and give her everything he knew she deserved.
It had only been three years since she came into his life, he realized, and he could never imagine a life without her now.
She was growing up before his very eyes.
He wished time would slow down—just a little.
He had never expected he would ever experience such bittersweet feelings as this, watching his child grow up, watching her become her own person, finding her own self.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get better,” he whispered, speaking more to himself. He motioned with his finger and from across the room, in her little reading nook area, the Grumpy Crow and Smiley Dino plushies levitated, floating over to the bed before lowering down next to their three-year-old owner.
Instinctively, the little girl, half-asleep, pulled away from Sylus and grabbed onto her Smiley Dino plushie, clinging to it in a tight embrace. Sylus smiled sadly, his hand reaching to brush the flyaway hair from her face. He grabbed the washcloth that fell and set it on the nightstand.
Someday, she would leave this nest and fly away. Maybe she would come back. Maybe not. Maybe she would always stay close to him, or maybe she would find her home elsewhere, a new life awaiting her someplace unknown.
He wouldn’t dream of clipping her wings or caging her for his own selfish desires, so he would let her go if he had to.
As he rubbed her small back, her shallow breathing all he could hear, Sylus knew one thing was certain:
“Daddy will always be here for you, my little birdie.”