The years passed. My daughter grew up strong-willed. Then one afternoon, I met Kara at the hospital vending machine.
After six months, I knew I was falling in love. But before anything else, I wanted Isabelle and her to meet.
So I planned a dinner at home.
As Isabelle adjusted the dishwasher, she turned to me.
“Dad, do you think she’ll like me? I’m almost 20—I know it’s not easy.”
I smiled. “Sweetheart, I know she will.”
I wanted them to meet.
Kara was quiet as we drove across town to my place.
I glanced at her, trying to read her mood. “Are you okay? You look like you’re heading into surgery, not dinner.”
She let out a small laugh. “I’m just nervous. Meeting your daughter is a big deal, Michael.”
When I pulled into the driveway, she didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on the porch, the blue-painted steps, the wind chime, the dent in the door.
“You look like you’re heading into surgery, not dinner.”
“Michael… you live here?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised. “I’ve lived here since before Izzy.”
“I—I can’t go in. I’m sorry. Can we do this another time? I just don’t feel well.”
She was pale.
“It’s just dinner. Izzy’s probably setting the table right now.”
“Can we do this another time? I just don’t feel well.”
Kara’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Kara, you’re scaring me.”
