6. The Girl and Her Father

​

Once, there was a little girl,

who adored one person more than anyone else in the world.

​

Her father. The man she worshipped,

because he loved her in a way that made her feel chosen.

 

She admired him, followed him,

believed in him with the unquestioning devotion

that only a child can give.

 

To her, he was safety.

He was love.

 

But when she needed him most, he let her down.

Not because she was unworthy,

but because he feared punishment from others more than he cared to protect her.

 

He could not stand up for her.

He backed away when she reached for him,

leaving her lost, confused, and quietly broken.

 

She learned too young that even the person who loves you most can abandon you if someone else is in control.

 

So she created a belief that lived deep in her bones:

If there is no one else,

If there is no reason for him to abandon me, 

then I will be safe.

​

At every sign of distance, at every hesitation,

at every warning that someone might walk away,
her childhood fear returned.

 

She shrank.
She clung.
She cried.
She fought.
 

She twisted herself into quiet hope
that this time he would stay.

 

What she never understood then,
is that she was not unlovable.

She simply grew up with no one standing between her and hurt.

 

And the wound was never that her father did not love her.

The wound was that he did,
but not enough to be brave,
not enough to give the protection she needed.​​