My Dad was very cheery for the next few days.

Singing more songs to himself, more so than usual. And he was more loving then before, dancing with me and playing on the piano or asking me to play a song I was practicing while he would help guide me if I made a mistake.

He could always be loving to me, but this seemed more than usual.

As though my Dad won some big prize.

“Did something good happen, Dad?” I asked that morning.

He finished cleaning up from breakfast as he joined me on the couch in the living room. “Mmm? What do you mean, Sweetie?”

I looked up at him as he sat down next to me. “You just seem really happy, is all.”

I noticed the edges of his lips move slightly up. “It’s because I’m with you, My Dear.” He kissed the top of my head. “Though there is another thing that’s a surprise.”

“A surprise? For who?”

He lightly squished my cheeks as he smiled. “For you Sweetie, but as I said, it’s a surprise. It arrived early this morning. Do you want to see it?”

Wonder and curiosity filled my thoughts as I nodded quickly in response.

His smile grew. “Close your eyes.”

I stilled the moment I covered my face, my smile vanishing. Was this good or not? Was this really something for me, or not?

“Alright, you can look now.” He says, his voice closer than before. I could feel him looming over me like a shadow. “Amalie?”

Slowly, I peeked through my fingers until I saw what waited for me was a package wrapped in brown paper. I looked at my Dad, confused. He merely continued to smile and ask. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

I looked back at it. It just seemed so plain. Anything could be inside. Anything.

Squaring my shoulders, I reached and untied the string, opening the paper to reveal a plain cardboard box. Opening it, I saw what looked to be books in a rather impressive set of three. All were hardcover and came in a case with a letter on top.

Taking the books out, I realized it was from the series that I loved so much. With even more confusion, I turned my attention to the letter read by my Dad since it was written with some fancy handwriting.

Dear Amalie,

I know that you and I are not well acquainted with each other. But in that short time, I understood more about you. I could tell you were a girl meant for great things. And I thought this was best to show my appreciation after dealing with some less than kind people.

Your father has told me much about your deep love for books, and as a book lover and author myself, I thought you would enjoy this small gift. Please enjoy, and never stop being emersed in the stories that you love so deeply.

Forever Yours,

Margret Woods

I looked up to my Dad the moment he said her name. I knew that name well because it was the person who wrote the book that I loved so much. I looked at the books, then at my Dad, the woman we met at the bookstore, Maggie. She gave me a toy bunny that I kept on my bed. She wrote these books. But I couldn’t understand why she would give me these books that looked too important for someone like me.

Picking the books out of the box, I couldn’t help but feel like I had been given a valuable treasure. Something that was truly amazing even to have, as I held it up like I had discovered something rare like gold or something from Icelandic Mythology.

My Dad chuckled. He seemed to like my reaction to the gift. “I take it that you’re happy with this?”

“Yes!” I say quickly before my smile disappears as I suddenly felt guilty. “But,”

He tilts his head to my response. “What is it, Sweetie?”

I looked at the letter that was still in his hands. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the letter, you read, it said that I’m meant for great things… but I’m not. All those other kids at school… they think I should just…” I gripped my skirt with both hands. “That I should just disappear like Mom. That I don’t deserve to… to be here.”

“Sweetheart,” he cups my face with his right hand. “That’s not true, not at all. You brought me so much joy when you were born. You have every right to be here, and you deserve love regardless of what those children think. As your father, I try what I can to make your life as best as humanly possible, and I know some at your school don’t like you.” I looked away, only to have my head turn from his other hand, both now resting lightly on my face. “But that should never stop you from being at your best or doing what you think is right. Those kids know nothing of the life you’ve lived or what you’ve had to deal with. Just because your mother isn’t here doesn’t make you any less deserving of existing in this world. In fact, I’d say you have more of a right than anyone else.”

I looked at him with a frown. “What do you mean, Dad?”

He just smiled, picked me up and held me in his lap, swaying slightly like before at the bookstore. “It doesn’t matter. You will understand when you’re older. Just live as you want, My Dear, and I’ll support whatever it is you wish to do. Like, say if you wanted those who bully you to disappear. I’d be more than fine with letting that happen.”

“No!” I say quickly. Pulling away to look him right in the eye as he continued to smile. “Just because they say those things doesn’t mean I want something bad to happen to them. Some of those kids have it bad. It’s not their fault. At least, not fully.” I gripped his shirt. “I don’t want them to die.”

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He merely looked at me, then laughed, drawing me back into his chest. “Die? Oh, My Dear, I wasn’t thinking of that. Though I’m sure many think all bullies deserve such a thing. I know that children can be cruel. I was merely thinking of talking with their parents or even the principal if it were to continue.” He kept me close while stroking my hair. I couldn’t see his face but could tell by his tone of voice that he was mad. But not at me. “Although, if things don’t change, I might have to escalate things a bit. Talk to the school board of education, but even then, they might not do anything. Honestly, they claim to care about the children. In reality, they only care about their image until something apprehensible is revealed that they had been hiding from the public, and their reputation dives to the bottom.”

I didn’t like that.

The way he’d casually talk about such things like that, that had another meaning underneath his words. He wanted all of it to disappear because of how a few treated me. Many of the other children ignored me because they were afraid to be targeted by those that bullied me or just didn’t want to get involved, much like with some of the adults I’ve seen.

I couldn’t understand.

I liked school, just not all the people there…

But there had been times, really bad times, when I’d dream about my school. All the people that hated me were locked inside, unable to get out as it ate them whole in a sea of fire while I watched from a distance ignoring their cries for help as it all burned, thinking that this is what they deserved, that I didn’t feel anything inside of me. Like I was empty. It was wrong to think that, but it happened and probably would as I’d get older.

I hated that part of myself.

I pressed myself closer. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was stupid of me to do so.

I could feel my father’s hold tighten slightly, the tone of his voice returning to normal.

“Sweetie, would you like me to read to you tonight?”

I pulled away to look at him and returned his smile with one of my own. “Sure,” if only to escape from the thoughts that I disliked. Even for a short time.

School was right around the corner; I knew I had to go back and deal with it all over again. At least in the meantime, I could just enjoy reading or being read too.

Whenever my Dad reads to me, I always feel the safest. How his voice carries even when I drift to sleep makes me at ease. As if nothing else exists in the world.

When I read, I always imagine myself in that world, where I can stand for myself, and be who I want, whatever it is. Perhaps one day, I could be the hero I always read about. But for now, that’s not meant to be. Since I know, I know all too well that someone like me, at my age, will be in the background as an adult takes center stage.

I looked up at my father. I love him, I do, but I hope that I don’t become like him as I get older. That was a secret I would never tell.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” hearing my father’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I shook my head, changing the topic by asking. “What’s for dinner?”

My father smiled. “Never ask,” he says as he places a kiss on the top of my head. “It spoils the surprise. Speaking of,” he closes the book. “I should get on that, thank you, My Dear.”

I moved off so he could leave the couch as he handed me the book.

“We can continue reading this later tonight. How does that sound?”

I smiled. “That’s okay with me,”

He ran a hand over the top of my head. “Wonderful,” then headed to the door that led to the basement, only to pause and add. “Why not send a letter back to Mrs. Woods? I’m sure that would make her very happy.”

“Could I send a picture too?”

“A picture? Do you mean you want to draw her something? I see no reason not to. Go ahead. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Heading upstairs with the books, I paused, leaning to look over the railing, seeing my Dad still there by the door that led to the basement as he smiled.

“I think you’ll like tonight’s dinner; it’ll be the best I’ve come up with in a while.” He says to me. “It’s something that both of us will enjoy and move past that horrible event.”

“You mean with that mean lady?”

His smile grew. “Exactly.” He then opened the door, headed into the basement, and before the door closed, I could hear him humming a song, one I could recognize as one of his favourites. Keep A-Knockin’ (But You Can’t Come In) by a man named Louis Jordan. My father would hum that many times, mainly whenever he was in a good mood while going into the basement or even having it playing in the basement.

I had no clue why he’d hum that so much; maybe it was a way to remind me to stay out of the basement. Since I knew it was the one place that I wasn’t allowed to go. Everywhere else I could, like his office or even the attic with his supervision, but not down there. But I also wondered if it was directed toward my Mom when she was here. He’d sing and hum that song a lot around her. Almost as if he was mocking her for something.

Which made me wonder if she did something that I wasn’t aware of. I could never ask Dad, he never spoke of Mom, and it wasn’t like I could ask anyone else this either. Like friends, I didn’t really have any, so that wouldn’t happen.

I headed back to my room, placed my new books on my desk, then went and opened a cabinet at the bottom of my bookshelf where I kept some blank paper, only to stop when I saw something familiar and pulled out my photo album. There were several photos of my Dad and me, stopping at a special one. I smiled. It was of Vivian, my father and I all dressed in rainbows for the Pride Parade when I was five, about two years ago. Dad had ordered by the same person who made his tailored clothes, for us to match. He had a rainbow tie and vest while wearing a white suit, and I had a rainbow dress and a white blouse, while Vivian wore an outfit that was blue, purple and pink. I asked her what the colours it meant since it was on a flag, and she said that it means that she likes both boys and girls and that she was 200% sexuality.

I had no idea what that last part meant. I still don’t, but that was okay.

It was the first time I went to one of those parades, and it was nice too, so many people just being good to each other. I wanted to go again this year, but there was school. I’d rather skip school and be with people that care than go to a place that hates me.

I paused when reaching the end, a photo I kept hidden, even from Dad.

A photo of when Mom was still here.

It was the last photo of us as a family when I was three.

Besides the last memory I have of her, the only other time I can remember her was when she was angry. Yet, in this picture, she looks so happy.

The word “façade” came to mind. A word I learned off chance when finding it in a book I was reading, and when I looked it up, I discovered that it meant for the front of a building, but it could also be meant for people who were putting on a front like my mother, pretending to be as happy as she looked when it was nothing but a lie.

Instead of being happy, she was always bitter and cruel. It still scared me how she’d look at me, as though I were nothing to her, nothing but a tool. Something to be used.

I closed the book and put it away, only to pause when I saw my reflection. My Dad and I looked so much alike, yet I looked nothing like her, nothing at all. I couldn’t help but wonder as my hands reached to touch the cool glass as I rested part of myself against the tall mirror as I sat on the floor.

How much of me was really me, and how much of me was just a façade?

Was I even my own person?

Did I deserve to be?

With how much the other kids hated me at school and how so many of the teachers ignore it, it was something else that I couldn’t help but wonder. Would this whole thing continue even when I was an adult? Would people still hate me for just existing because I don’t have a Mom? I always thought it was stupid. I wasn’t the only kid who had one parent, there was a boy, Lukas, who was in a wheelchair, and he just had his Dad, while his Mom left blaming the Dad for how the boy was born.

He was a kid I’d often see in the library, and books were something we shared. We weren’t friends, not really, but we had at least an understanding of what it was like to be judged for things not in our control. My gaze then went from my reflection to the books, reminding me why I came back to my room in the first place.

Taking the piece of paper I had left on the floor, I went to my desk and pulled out some coloured pencils.

Thinking about all those horrible things could wait. Right now, I just wanted to think of the good. I just hoped Maggie would like my drawing.