𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 | ᵍʳᵉʸˢ ᵃⁿᵃᵗᵒᵐʸ

ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 | ¹⁹⁹⁶

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔

It was one of those Manhattan nights when the rain pounded relentlessly on the rooftops of the brownstones along Central Park, as if trying to bring the city itself to its knees.

My mother, Addison, wasn't there; she was in Europe on a training course in the latest surgical techniques, which she spoke passionately about during our phone calls.

There was only Betty, my nanny, a gentle older woman who always smelled like she had just taken fresh cookies out of the oven.

I was seven years old, almost eight, hiding under my blanket, doing what I did every night: waiting for the sound of Dad's keys in the door lock.

Because the world was a better place as long as my father came home every night. I could never fall asleep until I heard his voice or his footsteps on the old hardwood floors.

Dad came home later than usual that night. The door opened with a soft squeak, and I heard the rain grow louder for a moment before the door closed again.

Betty, always so observant, immediately noticed that something was wrong with Dad when he came into the living room, soaking wet and obviously distracted.

"Is everything alright, Dr. Shepherd?" I heard her ask worriedly.

"It's just been a long day," his voice came, tired and slightly shaky. I heard the rustle of bills, he was probably giving Betty her tip.

"You can go home, Betty. Thanks for staying longer tonight."

Soon after, I heard the zipper of Betty's raincoat and the door close quietly behind her.

Now it was just my father and me, separated by the thin wall of my bedroom. His heavy footsteps stopped outside my room.

I could hear him breathing, deep and heavy,
as if trying to shake the burden of the day from his shoulders.

The door opened and there he was, my hero,
the man who could fix anything, except maybe himself at that moment.

I quickly pressed my face deeper into the pillow and pretended to be asleep, but I listened intently to every sound.

I felt him sitting on my bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. "Missy?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

His hand gently stroked my head, a gesture so full of love and sadness at the same time, that I could no longer pretend to be asleep.

I blinked my eyes open and looked up at his face, noticing the traces of tears he quickly tried to hide.

"Daddy? What's wrong?"
My voice was low, almost a whisper.

It was unusual for him to come to me in the middle of the night. He forced a smile on his lips, more revealing than concealing.

"It's okay, sweetie," he said with a smile that was more for me than for him. "I just wanted to tell you how much I love you."

In my young heart, I knew something was wrong, but the warmth of his presence was enough to dispel my worries. I reached out and hugged him tightly, as if to give him all my childish strength.

"I love you too, Daddy," I whispered.

After what seemed like an eternity, he asked quietly: "Missy, would you like to sleep in by bed tonight?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, my voice full of childish joy, though a part of me sensed the sadness in his tone. I grabbed my pillow, ready to follow him anywhere.

As we approached his bedroom, I stopped suddenly, my eyes fixed on the small army of stuffed animals I had left in my room.

"Daddy, wait! We have to take my stuffed animals, too."

Dad, who had regained his composure somewhat, looked at me questioningly.

"All of them?" he asked, his tone a mixture of amusement and exhaustion.

"Yes, all of them," I insisted.

"Okay, we'll take them all," he conceded as he stacked them. "But they have to behave, okay?"

"Bear can't sit next to Bunny, they had an argument last week," I explained seriously as Dad tried not to laugh and arranged everything exactly as I requested.

"And what about Mr. Fluffy? Can he sit next to Bunny?"

"Mr. Fluffy is in an open relationship with the Unicorn and Lady Glitter Sparkles. It's very complicated, but don't worry, they're all happy with it."

A laugh escaped him, a genuine, warm laugh that seemed to lift the heaviness of the evening for a moment.

"An open relationship?" he repeated, slightly incredulous. "Where did you get that from?"

I shrugged, proudly spreading my own childish logic as I said, "I listen to you and mommy sometimes."

"I see," Dad grinned and followed my instructions.

Next he picked up Giraffy, the giraffe.
"How about Giraffy? Any issues there?"

"No, Giraffy is friends with everyone. She's kind of the peacemaker," I explained as I watched contentedly as my father placed her in the middle, surrounded by all the other stuffed animals.

"Now we can all get a good night's sleep," I said, confident that I had done everything necessary to ensure peace.

Dad lay down next to me, turned off the bedside lamp and pulled me into his arms. "Yes, we can," he whispered, and I felt him kiss my head.

"It's good to have peacemakers around, isn't it?" he mused, looking at Giraffy.

"Yes, she keeps everyone together," I agreed, my eyes sparkling with the joy of our shared creation.

"You always make everything better, you know that, Missy?" he said softly as his finger gently traced my cheek.

"You too, Daddy," I said simply. They were the simplest of words, but they carried the weight of my entire little world.

For him, it was a healing, a reminder that despite the pain and loss he had experienced that day in the hospital, here at home, in this quiet, gentle moment, there was something pure and good. Something worth fighting for and living for.

He leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead and whispered, "Good night, sweetie."

That night, my father was my hero, the greatest in the world, the man who could fix anything, even if his own heart needed mending.