Say you love me

Pearl

1974:

"Pearl, where are you?" Chris called as she searched the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the little girl hiding underneath the table. Christine opened the pantry, with no success. The little girl giggled. She loved playing hide n seek with her mother, but she wished she had a father to play along, too.
"Oh, I wonder where she is!" Chris continued as she checked under the sink. Nothing. She checked behind the oven, in the refrigerator, and, knowing Pearl would think it silly, she opened the canister of oatmeal and peered inside. "Pearl, are you in there?" She shook the canister around.

"Mummy, I can't fit in there!" Pearl laughed as she raced from under the table. She hugged Chris's legs tightly, as that was as high as she could reach. "Oh, there's my special girl!" Chris picked her up and gave her a dozen kisses, making the little girl squeal, "Mummy, that tickles!"

She was the spitting image of her mother, but she was more like John in personality. She was shy, reclusive. She loved music and sang along to every song that came on the radio. She was sweet and gentle, just like her father. Christine smiled at her daughter as she looked at her. Her face was cherub, with freckles splashed across her nose like pepper, big round blue eyes with long lashes, and heart shaped lips the color of roses. Her hair was short and brownish-blonde.

Chris carried Pearl into her room, where she tucked her in and said goodnight. "Okay, darling. Enough playing, it's time for bed." Pearl snuggled under her tie dye blanket, and said, "Mummy, Alicia has a daddy, why don't I have a daddy?" Alicia was the girl Pearl played with everyday, she was a year older and could be called her best friend.
"You do have a daddy, Pearl."
"Where is he then?" Pearl whispered.

Chris didn't know how to answer. She wanted her daughter to have good images of John, but how could she answer honestly? She took the vague way out, quickly shutting off the light before saying, "He's with you everyday, darling. He loves you and tells me he's so excited to see you. Goodnight, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite!" With that, she closed the door.

Alone, Christine poured herself a glass of wine and thought to herself: Had she made the right choice? She loved her daughter and wouldn't give her for the world, but she still often thought of John. She sent him pictures and letters, telling him that their daughter was born, that she said her first words, that she was so like him. John wrote back, but the letters didn't sound like him, they sounded forced and dull, letters from a stranger. Chris had heard that he had finally got his drinking under control, but she was still uneasy to see him.

Chris shook her head back and forth, as if her mind was an Etch-a sketch and could erase any unwanted thoughts. She still loved John; in her heart she knew that. She looked down at her left hand, which still had her wedding bands. Not once in the three years since she'd left had she taken them off.
Have I made the right choice?