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Daddy’s Little Girl
“Daddy’s little girl, Daddy’s Princess.” It was an assumption people always made because my
“dad” always volunteered at school and with anything I was involved in. It wasn’t what it looked like
though. If anyone saw him volunteering they would think, “Wow, what a cool dad. I wish my dad did
that!”
It wasn’t like that at all, no one knew what it was like at home. When referring to my biological father
I refer to him as “dad” in quotations because it is something that everyone always uses to refer to him
when talking to me. For example: “Your dad is so cool!” or “Your dad is thoughtful.” It was always your
“dad”, but I consider myself fatherless he lost the right to be my father years ago. Scientifically, I have a
father due to how humans are made, but emotionally I don’t. The definition of father is “a man in re-
lation to his natural child or children.” There was never a relation, so how can I have a father? I always
hid the fact that life wasn’t great with a smile, because if I was smiling, I was fine.
On a cold January morning the shadow of fear blew through my house … It was a Saturday
morning, I was planning on taking advantage of my warm bed and it being a weekend to allow myself
to sleep in. My brother was going out with our “dad”, so it was going to be just me and my mom. We
could sleep in, and then go shopping later in the day. I could hear voices downstairs one voice calm,
the other voice was raised.
“I brought you flowers!”
It had to be my “dad”. As if flowers could fix a broken heart in a broken home. As if flowers were the
cure to everything and everything was okay with the gift of flowers. I tried to ignore the voices think-
ing it was nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Running footsteps quickly moved up
the stairs and into my room, then my mom began to tap me.
“C’mon we’re going to go, grab whatever you need,” she said shakily.
She usually was a very calm and collected person but I could tell she was scared, I knew what was hap-
pening…
I grabbed my favorite bag, and took my laptop, along with a few things that were in reach. My
mom was in the bathroom whispering on her cell phone.
“She is up, she’s got a bag with a few things, we are going to try to leave…”
Her voice was shaky but still strong. She either talks to my grandma or grandpa when things like this
happen. Their conversation ended shortly, I stood outside the bedroom door as she stepped out of the
bathroom.
“Go down stairs when you’re done.”
She put her phone in her pocket and headed down, I went into the bathroom, and then stood at the
top of the stairs listening. As the one voice was still raised, I walked halfway down the stairs. I then
looked at my mom cornered against the wall. He had cornered her…Yet, she stood tall and strong as he
got more and more into her space spitting lies at her. Nothing he said was true, but said the lies as if he
himself believed them.
I somehow managed to creep down the stairs and into the kitchen, my mom standing in front of me
like a knight protecting its castle, the whole time. My “dad” was still right against her, and she was still
standing tall; but he was making crazy threats now. My mom ran to the landline phone ready to call
911, “dad” ran and unplugged it. I looked over at my brother, who was maybe eleven or twelve years
old at the time, he sat playing on his iPod as if nothing was happening. I looked at him a few seconds,
but his eyes never left the screen, purposely avoiding the situation.
“Oh, I should get to see her! I am her father, and she is my daughter!”
His words were so loud, I wasn’t listening to exactly what he was saying until now, they were closer to
the kitchen and not by the phone any more. I tightened my fists as if to hold me back from screaming
at him, I tried to keep my mouth shut. I just couldn’t though. I tried hard not to say anything, I mean