She’d finish her snack, wipe her hands on that same flowery dress, and wander over to the door like it was part of her schedule. No TV, no toys—just the door.
Sometimes she’d sit cross-legged on the mat.
Sometimes she’d stand with her nose pressed to the glass, whispering little updates like,
“Daddy, it rained today,”
or
“I saved you the blue jellybean.”
At first, we thought it was cute.
Then it turned into a ritual.
Rain or shine, weekday or weekend, she was there.
Waiting.
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