I always thought I was a good dad—not perfect, but present. Liana, my twelve-year-old, was born on a stormy night, and it feels like I’ve been running through storms ever since. Her mom, Dana, left when Liana was six. I didn’t chase her—I was too busy learning to braid hair and buy school supplies that didn’t scream “dad picked this.”

The other night, Liana got sick—shivering on the bathroom floor. I lay beside her. She whispered, “Thanks for staying,” and I said, “Always.” At 3 a.m., she said her mom had called. I wasn’t angry—just a quiet ache. Two weeks later, Dana visited. They met at a park while I watched from a distance.

Afterward, Liana said Dana smelled like jasmine and coffee but felt different now. I reminded her trust takes time. That night taught me—sometimes, the best thing you can do is just stay. Be there. Always.