“ALLEGED FATHER: PARTICIPANT #X9724833 IS NOT EXCLUDED as the biological father. Probability of relationship: 99.99%”
I read the words over and over until my vision blurs.
That’s me, Participant #X9724833, and according to the paternity test results printed on the paper in my hand, I’m Sammy’s dad. Not that I thought otherwise, but seeing it here in black and white, all official and shit, makes it sink in just how real this is. I’m a father and soon, I’ll be solely responsible for a little girl who knows very little about me or how her world is about to be turned completely upside down.
I allow myself a few more minutes of selfish introspection then text Sophie, letting her know I have the results and am ready to meet her in Houma to file the paperwork. We agree to meet at a local park first so I can spend some more time getting to know Sammy. And for the first time in days, I find myself genuinely smiling, and it’s because of her.
That same smile falters when I’m closing out my phone from shooting Sophie a text and notice the missed messages from Piper, but I don’t open them. I can’t.
Later, when I’m driving to Houma, my phone rings. For a split second, I think it could be Sophie, letting me know something’s changed, but as I glance over at it in the seat beside me, I see No Caller ID flash on the screen, and I let it go to voicemail.
Again.
I don’t know why she keeps trying. She’s a persistent woman, but she should know by now I’m not worth the trouble she’s putting herself through. Every inch of my body is wanting to hear her voice and speak to her, but I’m a weak man and I know that won’t be enough. As soon as I have a small piece of her, I’ll want more. I’ll have to see her and touch her. Taste her.
There’s no time for selfish needs. I have to hold onto what little strength I have and save it for Sammy. She needs me more . . . more than Piper. She doesn’t need me. She might need what I can give her, but that’s where it ends.
When I finally make it to Houma and find the park Sophie told me about, I step out of my truck and hear a high-pitched squeal coming from the playground. It’s Sammy, I just know it. I’ve never heard that particular sound from her before, but I feel it deep in my bones that it’s her.
How crazy is that?
Sure enough, I quickly spot Sophie and Sammy at the swing set. With every push, Sammy is laughing and throwing her head back, wild curls blowing in the wind like a dandelion being released of its seeds, full of life.
In stark contrast, Sophie seems paler than the last time I saw her, less than two weeks ago, and visibly weak. She looks as if she’s using her last bit of energy to push Sammy. The closer I get, I notice her hooded eyes and the way she barely manages a smile when she sees me. Concern rises inside me for this person I barely know, yet share so much with.
“Mind if I have a turn?” I ask Sammy when she turns to see me.
She gives me a surprised smile and then responds. “You want Mama to push you on the swing?”
“No, silly, I want to push you. Your mama is havin’ all the fun, and I think she should share. What do you think?”
Sophie eases up on her pushing while Sammy ponders my question. When Sammy agrees to let me have a turn, Sophie gives me a grateful smile before walking to a nearby bench.
“Have you touched the clouds yet, Sammy?” I ask, pushing her swing a little bit harder with every turn.
“No. I can’t do that. I’m too little.” Sammy doesn’t speak like most kids her age. Not that I have a lot of experience in the matter, but remember when Carter was four, he still said “wittle”, instead of little. Sammy doesn’t do that, and it feels like physical proof of how she’s had to grow up so quickly. She already seems wise beyond her years.
“You’re not too little, you’re just right. Wanna try?”
She only thinks for a second before answering with a loud, “Yes”, so I increase the force of my pushes. The higher she gets, the louder her laughter is. My heart reacts, as well. It feels . . . warmer, bigger and I notice I’m breathing easier for the first time in weeks.
“Look at that! You’re gettin’ closer and closer to those clouds,” I tell her. Thankfully, she’s in one of those swings that has holes for her legs, wrapping around her back, keeping her secure. When Cami was little, this was her favorite thing to do. She’d beg me to push her on the swing and make her touch the clouds. I see similarities between Sammy and my sister, me too. It’s so weird that she’d share familiar characteristics and traits, without ever knowing us.
“I am! I think I can touch them!” She reaches her tiny hand out, grabbing at the air. Sammy does this a few more times before relaxing back into the swing. She looks tired, so I stop pushing, letting the swing slow on its own.
“So, how did you do? Did you grab any of them clouds?” I ask, walking around so I can see her face.
“I tried really hard, but they kept slippin’ through my fingers. I had no idea they were so slippery!” she exclaims. Laughter bubbles out of me at her wild imagination and it feels good. So good.
Sammy reaches her arms again, but this time, they’re directed at me, and I’m caught off guard until I realize she needs me to help her out of the swing. Grabbing her gently under her arms, I pull her out of the swing, setting her feet on the ground and pausing at the way it feels to hold her, even briefly.
My daughter.
Not paying attention to my weird behavior, she says, “Thanks, Tucker” before running off to the sandbox a few feet away. I’m still standing there, dumbfounded and staring after her, even when she looks back up and waves.
When I finally take a seat by Sophie on the bench, I notice an odd expression on her face.
“You okay?” I ask. “You need some water or somethin’?”
“I have some, thanks. She’s somethin’ else, huh?”
“She’s perfect,” I say, honestly. “I don’t know many kids, but she seems so smart and mature for her age.”
“Sammy’s been an old soul since the day she was born,” Sophie replies thoughtfully. “She was an easy baby, never colicky or fussy. She started walking at nine months, talking before that. When she was two, she was already potty-trained. I know moms at the group we used to go to for playdates were always amazed, telling me how lucky I was . . . am.” She swallows, her smile fading a bit as she grows silent, her eyes drifting over to Sammy. “It’s like God knew exactly what I needed.”
“Tell me more about her,” I encourage, feeling like Sophie needs this just as much as I do. “What she likes, what she doesn’t. I want to know everything.”
Sophie blows out a breath and chuckles. “Wow, where do I begin?”
I watch as she takes her time. It must be extremely difficult to try to wrap up everything about your child in a few words, but I try to be patient, because I really want to know.
“Well, she loves music.”
My heart literally leaps at those words. I swear, she couldn’t have started off with a better attribute.
“I’m sure you’re thrilled to hear that,” she says, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks over at me. We smile at each other and it’s then that I see Sophie. I mean, really see her. Her skin is dark under her eyes and her cheeks are sunken. I bet she’s lost a good ten pounds since the day she showed up at the farm. She’s weak, frail, nothing like a young woman her age should be. I feel my blood begin to boil as I fight the anger bubbling up, trying to imagine how hard this has been on her.
I hate cancer.
Sophie’s not just taking care of Sammy, she’s trying to take care of herself as much as she can, and she’s fighting death every step of the way. It’s so fucking unfair.
Life is so unfair.
“She loves to dance and sing and will cover everything with glitter, if you let her,” she continues, her words flowing faster. “She loves to be outside and pick flowers during the day and watch the stars at night. She’ll try just about anything once. People used to tell me all the time how great it must be to have such an adventurous child and it is, as long as you can keep up with the adventure. I don’t want her to lose that, Tucker. I don’t want her innocent spirit to be crushed. Promise me you’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
As fragile as Sophie seems, she’s still tough. I like seeing the fire in her eyes.
“I promise.” And I mean it with all of my heart. “What about her favorite foods? Things she doesn’t like?”
“That little girl could eat pizza every day for the rest of her life, I’m fairly certain. But, like I said, she’ll try anything, so don’t be afraid to encourage her. The two things I’ve never been able to get her to eat are green beans and cabbage but, who can blame her, right?”
I smile, because those were two things I hated growing up, but I love them now. “Well, she definitely knows what she likes, and she has no problem bein’ an individual.” I sigh, looking over at the sandbox where Sammy has made a couple of friends and is leading them all around the square in a line resembling a parade. It makes me laugh, again. “She’s so special, Sophie. You’ve done a helluva good job raisin’ her.”
There’s a hint of a blush in her skin that makes me remember a bit more of our brief time together—that one night so long ago. Would things have been different if I’d treated her better? Called her? Dated her? I can’t bear the thought of her being punished for my womanizing ways, but I also can’t regret it because it resulted in Sammy.
There’s definitely nothing about Sophie that deserves this sentence.
“Mama! Mama!” Sammy runs over with her hand behind her back. She takes a second to catch her breath before presenting Sophie with a bunch of dandelions.
“Thank you, baby. You’re the sweetest girl in the whole world.” Sophie leans down and kisses Sammy’s cheek, just before a coughing fit hits her.
Before I can offer her anything, Sammy has already grabbed Sophie’s bottle of water and handed it to her. I watch as this four-year-old rubs her mama’s back, soothing her until the coughing subsides.
My heart breaks witnessing this tiny person taking care of her sick mother, but I’m also proud to see how caring and thoughtful she is. I hope later, when the time arrives and Sophie is no longer with us, that Sammy allows me to console her—take care of her—because it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to pick her up and hold her—protect her from the harshness of her reality.
I understand, now, why Sophie doesn’t want Sammy to see her get any worse, but the question is, how much is too much? Hasn’t she already seen her mama suffer enough? Does she even know that Sophie is dying and what that means for her? My head swims with possible outcomes from not answering these questions correctly and not many are good.
How am I supposed to know what’s right or what’s best for Sammy? Her life is going to change forever, Sophie is going to die, and I’m going to be left picking up the pieces. I don’t feel like I’m good enough for that or like I’ve earned the right. But now that I know Sammy and know she’s mine, I’ll do everything in my power to take care of her the best I can.
It’s not much, but it’s all I have to offer.
“I want to tell her,” Sophie says as Sammy runs back to the sandbox.
“Tell her—” I begin to question, but she answers it for me.
“That you’re her dad. She needs to start getting used to the idea. I’m not getting any better, worse, actually. I know it’s kind of fast, but I don’t feel like I have another choice.”
Choices.
I’ve been frivolous with the choices I’ve made in my life, using up chances and taking for granted the life I’ve been given.
This is real talk if I’ve ever seen it. The fact that Sophie can sit here and speak so matter-of-factly about her mortality and what’s to come amazes me. I don’t know where she gets her strength from, but I hope that same strength lives in Sammy.
“When?” I ask, feeling my nerves spike, but also feeling something else mixed in with them—anticipation, happiness . . . Am I allowed to feel happy at a time like this?
“You need it too, Tucker.” Sophie turns to face me. “I can see it on your face, in your eyes when you look at her—you want her to know. You both need this.”
I nod, watching Sammy as I play it over in my head, trying to predict her reaction.
“Besides, we’re getting ready to go file the paperwork and Sammy will know something is up. You can’t keep much from her. She’s entirely too perceptive for four.” Sophie joins me, watching Sammy. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going to be like when she’s older.”
That last sentence comes out soft, quiet, like an inner thought Sophie let slip, somewhere between heartache and awe.
She wants Sammy to live. She wants her to grow and become whatever she wants to be.
She just wishes she was going to be here to see it.
I get that.
I wish that too.
My heart aches as I watch Sophie watch Sammy.
After a few minutes, she calls her over.
“What do you need, Mommy?” Sammy asks in her tiny voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, baby.” Sophie tells a white lie, but it’s one of those kind that I think God looks right over. He can’t fault her for wanting to put off the pain as long as possible. “Wanna sit down?”
“Okay,” Sammy says, scooting between me and Sophie.
“Remember how I told you that Tucker is a special friend?” Sophie asks, making eye contact with me over Sammy’s head, her eyes glistening in the sun.
“Yeah, you said we’re gonna see him a lot and he’s a good person.”
“That’s right, baby.” Sophie gives me a small smile, hugging Sammy to her side.
Sammy also turns toward me, giving me a big cheesy grin, showing her adorable baby teeth, like she just let me in on a secret between her and her mom.
“Remember when you asked about having a daddy and I told you when I found him, I’d tell you?”
“Uh huh,” Sammy says, turning back toward Sophie.
“How would you feel if I told you Tucker is your daddy?”
Just like that.
No pomp and circumstance.
Sophie just comes right out with the truth, connecting the dots for Sammy as best as she can, and I take note.
“I think I would like that,” Sammy says thoughtfully, her head turning to her lap as she plays with her fingers, thinking it over. She’s quiet for a second and I don’t say a word, because I’ve momentarily lost my ability to speak. “Yeah, I like that a lot. Do you like that?”
Her stunning blue eyes turn to me and I almost laugh, my emotions all over the place.
“Yeah, Sammy. I like that a lot, too.”
“I’ve always wanted a daddy. Have you always wanted a Sammy?”
She renders me speechless again and I fight for the right words to say—something honest, but also something that lets her know how much I want to be her dad. I didn’t before, but it was only because I didn’t know her. Now, that she’s here and she’s mine, I can’t think of anything else I want to be.
“I think I did, I just didn’t know it.”
She smiles and it warms every fracture in my chest, molding pieces that have been broken back together. She finds her own spot and settles there.
“Can I call you daddy?” she asks, scrunching her nose up at me in question.
“Call me whatever you want,” I tell her sincerely, but daddy sounds kind of perfect.