"Daddy?"
Her squeak can be heard from the corner of my ear. Not willing to break my focus over the medical reports on my desk, I acknowledge her with a mere murmur but not turn to her.
"Does mommy love me?"
Her question throws me into shock. I blink once or twice before realizing my concentration is already broken. When I turn to her, a sight of my daughter with sleeves doused in tears greets my gaze. In her hand rests a cat doll, the same cat doll that locked me into my wife's arms forever. She's still sobbing, trying to form a coherent thought when I decide to follow up on her question.
"Of course, why do you believe not?"
"B-because," she responds through her tears, "she got mad at me when she saw the grade for my m-math test. She made angry faces and started stomping and snapping. I was s-scared."
I give my desk a short glance and see the incriminating document my wife laid before me earlier. Fourteen of thirty on something as simple as multiplication tables, I'm a little disappointed myself. When I turned to my daughter again, the cat doll separates her from me thinking it will defend her from my nonexistent fury.
Lightly pushing my doll out of my sight, I see her only staring at the ground in shame. I reply with a tender smile, "Don't worry, she gets angry all the time, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you."
She peeps from her downward stare. "But my friends' moms say 'I love you' to them. Why can't my mommy? I can't be sure if she does love me or not."
My smile slides off with myself unable to form a proper response.
My daughter continues, "Mommy just looks at me, pats me on the head. I know she can't talk but I want a mommy that does so I can know if she loves me or not."
I lift her up and land her on my lap covering the ill-marked exam simultaneously. Double taking the door, my voice tries its best to reassure her. "If you had another mommy then I wouldn't be gifted with such a beautiful daughter."
She gives a pout to my teasing.
"Well how many times does mommy hug you?"
"A lot," she says with a sigh.
"How many times does mommy kiss you on the head?"
"A lot." She gives the same tone obviously unsatisfied with my replies.
I am not satisfied with my responses as well. I'm far from the best father in the world and here I am trying to mend my daughter's heart. Trying to make eye contact with her on my lap proves to be impossible. Pondering for a moment, I share my experiences I had when I first met her hoping to catch her attention.
"Did you know your mom was always angry at me when we first met?"
My opening for an anecdote draws my daughter's eyes. Turning to me, she shakes her head and gives me a curious gaze.
"She was always angry with me because I used to be so lazy. When I went to a new school, the same school I met your mom, I was discouraged because of all the new people. So I did not do anything for a while until your mom got my act together and because of her, I always do my best."
Finishing my story, she hops off my lap looking guilty. She grips the cat doll closely giving me a sense of déjà vu. Fireworks, the festival, the ball game, the all those years flash before me until my trance shatters to another question.
"But why does she look angry all the time."
"When she's angry, that means she loves us."
My reply throws my daughter's head into a tilt.
That cookie cutter parent response only makes me realize more of how poor of a parent I am. I search deep in my thoughts trying to find one that will make her understand. Recalling the year of her birth, I clench my teeth at the thought looming at my mind.
"Do you know what she said to me when you were born?"
She shakes her head inquisitively.
"When you were born, she cried telling me how sad she is because she'll never hear you call her 'mommy.' She was sad she'll never say how much she'll love you and that she can't hear you do the same. She told me that she'll love you ten times more than any other mother could do to make up for it."
I remember it was the exact thought she conveyed seven or so years ago. I breathe in fighting back the emotion stirring up inside. I look to my daughter doing the same sending off sniffles here and there. Unfortunately she loses to them and starts tears begin to well out slowly.
"C-can you teach me h-how to say 'I love you' to her, daddy?"
"You can already. Just hug her and make sure you never let go."
She dashes away from my office surely to follow my method like an order. The cat doll drags along with her. When I was sure I was out of her sight, I also give in to my tears.
Hisao, Shizune, and Mayoi.
We're a family and we don't need words to show that.