I waited nervously near the folding chairs for more than twenty minutes, watching the father-daughter dance begin without my dad. Everyone else was dancing—even Mr. Wheeler, the janitor, who looked genuinely happy dancing with his niece. Just when I was starting to lose hope, the door creaked open.
There he was—my dad—in his usual jeans, vest, and hat. His eyes locked with mine, filled with regret.
“You’re late,” I said softly.He handed me a single rose and replied, “I had to stop somewhere first.”“Where?” I asked, curiosity mixed with frustration.
He paused, then said quietly, “I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t stop us from having this night.” I knew exactly who he meant—Mom.
They had divorced years ago, and things had been complicated ever since.
“I promised her I wouldn’t miss another father-daughter dance,” he said. That night was unforgettable. I forgot all about the wait because he was truly present in every moment. On the drive home, he told me something that caught me off guard.
“Mom’s moving to St. Louis and wants you to go with her, but I won’t let that happen if you don’t want to.”
I froze. Moving away from my friends and school wasn’t something I wanted. “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling over for pizza. “We’ll figure it out together.” Not long after, Mom sought sole custody. Dad fought it, and when the court gave me the choice, I spoke honestly—I told them Dad wasn’t always there, but when he was, he was all in. Mom sometimes didn’t listen. So, I chose to stay with Dad.
Mom was sad but respected my decision and continued visiting on weekends. Now, in college, I have a strong relationship with both of them. Most importantly, they both show up for me. Since that dance, Dad has never missed a moment.
