Our Daughter Waits By The Door For Her Dad Every Day — and Today She Nearly Broke Me

It started as a little habit.

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.

And he always made it worth it. Every single time, the second that door opened, she lit up like it was Christmas morning. He’d scoop her up, kiss her forehead, and say,
“Thanks for keeping the house safe, Lieutenant.”

Today, though…

The door stayed shut.

She waited like always.
Cross-legged. Dress wrinkled. Hair messy. Hands gripping the edge of the welcome mat like it was her anchor.

I tried to coax her away.
“Sweetheart, let’s go read. Or color. Or maybe go outside for a bit?”

She shook her head.
“Not yet. He might still come. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.”

She said it like she had the whole thing figured out—like grown-ups get stuck in traffic all the time.
I nodded.
Because I couldn’t say the truth.

Two months ago, we buried him.

A drunk driver. Wrong side of the highway. Three seconds. Gone.

She knows he’s in heaven. We talk about it.
But what no one tells you about kids is that grief doesn’t follow a straight line.
It loops. Rewinds. Pretends.
Waits.

She stayed by the door until the sun dipped below the trees.

Then she stood, walked over to me, and quietly asked,
“Do they have doors in heaven?”

I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“Maybe they do, baby. Maybe Daddy’s standing by his door too.”

She nodded like that made perfect sense.

Then she did something that nearly broke me in half—
She walked back to the door, pressed her tiny hand against the glass, and whispered:

“It’s okay if you’re late, Daddy. I’ll wait tomorrow too.”

She’s asleep now, curled up in his old hoodie.
And I’m sitting here with a cup of cold tea and a shattered heart.

Grief doesn’t care how old you are.
But neither does love.

Because somehow, even in her pain, our little girl still believes.

Still hopes. Still waits.

Related Posts

When My MIL Doubted Me, I Let the 4th of July Speak for Itself

When my mother-in-law told me to “just bring chips” to her Fourth of July BBQ because I “can’t cook anyway” I smiled and agreed. But instead of…

My Date Paid for Dinner — Then Everything Took a Dark Turn

When my best friend Mia set me up with Eric, she promised he was a “total gentleman.” And at first, he really seemed like one he brought…

They Mocked Me in Public — I Taught Them a Lesson They’ll Never Forget

They paraded their love across social media like a trophy, while I picked up the pieces of my life . I sold our house, left the past…

Men feel more pleasure when a woman’s VA “G”l” N”a is…See more

Is my vagina the right size? Demystifying doubts with real information One of the most common—but least discussed—questions among women is: Is my vagina size normal? The…

All I Wanted Was Time, Not Money!

My ex-wife’s grandfather, Orville, was the sort of man everyone assumed was stoic and distant—but beneath his reserved exterior beat the heart of someone who had lived…

A Miracle Amid the Flood, Family Reunites with Lost Dog in Texas

They thought they’d lost everything when the raging floodwaters swept through their Texas town—homes submerged, streets turned into rivers, and families forced to flee with only what…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *