The first time she’d babbled dada, I’d known I was in trouble. The first time she’d called me daddy, I’d nearly hit my knees. And the first time she’d said “I love you, Daddy,” I’d frozen, my chest so tight that I thought there was a solid chance I was having a heart attack. Once I’d felt comfortable that I didn’t need to call an ambulance, I’d immediately gone to the bathroom, gotten in the shower, and fought back manly fucking tears in private.
