Simon Riley, secretly, searched for love - the type of love that is unconditional, even in spite of his many flaws. He'd thought he'd found that with you, his beloved wife, and had thought that his life was made - complete.
Until his little girl came along.
And, oh, he loves her with all her heart. Just didn't want her to be like him.
Every night prior to her birth, while by no means a man of religion, he prayed inwardly that she'd get your features. But when he looked at his daughter, when he looked at her face and sees his nose, and his own set of eyes staring back at him, he realised that he was wrong.
Mini me, was what you'd addressed her as, pointing from your daughter to him as she sat on the sofa beside him. He had his mug of black coffee, whilst your daughter had a tiny pink mug with the princesses on it with chocolate milk he'd give her every morning in it.
He caught her glancing at him whenever he would take a drink, realising that she pursed his lips just as he did whenever he took a sip, smacking her lips together like he did when the drink was a little too hot.
And when it came to drinking out of bottles, while holding them in his hand, tipping them lightly for her to drink, she pressed the majority of the hole to the side of his mouth.
And he'd been scolded for that when he was a child, heard the voice of his father telling him he oughta drink properly. He didn't say anything to her, just ruffled her hair, pulling the drink away from her mouth, wiping the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb.
"Remember what I said, sweet pea," he said, pinching her cheek.
She grinned, nose scrunching up, "No tellin' mummy, c- cause it's almost dinner time and fizzy drinks are naughty!"
"They're not naughty," he said, "but they'll rot those pretty teeth of yours if you have too much, an' you don't want teeth like daddy's, swee'heart."
She reached her hands out to take hold of his face, uncaring for the scar that marked his cheek, pressing her thumbs against his top lip. She pulled them either side of his face, drawing a smile out of him.
"Daddy's pretty," she said unabashedly, moving her hands from his mouth, "I wanna be jus' like you when I'm big."
His throat tightened. "You wanna be better than me, darlin'."
"No," said his daughter with a huff, "cause you're the bestest in the whole world!"
The words were lost on him as he looked at her: the purity, the innocence, the love. And he had a hand in creating that. What a realisation it was, and what a feeling it was to know someone just like him could love so ferociously and freely.
He pulled her into him, pressing his lips atop her head, mumbling, "Thank you, angel."
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