Wow. So…I don't really want to think about how long it's been since I last updated. But I am trying to get back into the swing of things, (which means I'll actually update more than once every hundred years) so bear with me ;) I also just want to thank LittleGirlBigImagination, HopelessRomantic1994 (Jade), NikeaWow, mozzi-girl (Molly), CobaltRose96, Sixteen Vanilla Beans and The Beautiful Filth for the reviews :) You guys are freaking awesome, and it really means the world to me to hear what you think :)

I had a little girl. Once.

We called her Aya, which means painting; and she lived up to that name in every way. She was as beautiful as any painting; the kind of child photographers looked for to advertise children's clothes or toys. She had skin that was just lightly tanned, not as dark as her mother's, but tan enough that she looked like she lived in the San Francisco sun. Her hair was a mess of chocolate curls that were a pain to take care of in the morning and often made her cry when Natara had to brush them; but it was admired by every person she encountered. Her eyes were a deep and dark blue; the almond shape of Natara's and the color of mine. Anyone who saw those bright blue orbs would melt instantly; and little did Aya know she had everyone wrapped around her fingers. She was destined to be a little beauty, just like her mother.

She was my whole world.

I can remember one of the last times we were together as a family. It was Aya's fifth birthday. We had taken her to a small beach not far from a touristy area that I generally avoided. It was quiet. Only locals really knew this beach, and it wasn't far from where that girl was killed during the Maskmaker case. I tried not to think of that as I helped my daughter make a castle in the sand.

At the end of the day, when Natara had said it was time to go home, Aya had pursed her lips and made her eyes as big as possible. "Please, Mommy? Can't I jump off the dock one last time?"

"You didn't even jump last time!" I had teased her "You said it was too scary!"

"I'll go this time, promise! Please?"

Sure enough, Aya's eyes had her mother reduced to a puddle in seconds, and with a sigh, Natara agreed. "One more time."

With a squeal of delight, I watched as Aya ran to the end of the wooden fishing dock, her little pink bathing suit reflecting off the sunset like a mermaid's tail. Her hair, knotted and dry from the salt water, was falling out of it's pigtails. I watched her closely from the shore, ready to spring should her little yellow water-wings fail. The water wasn't deep at the end of the dock. When it was originally built, it probably was. But then I could easily stand in it.

Aya looked back at me, a worried glance on her tiny tan face. "Catch me, Daddy!" She yelled.

Smiling back at my wife, I swam back out into the cold water, despite the fact that I had just dried off, and held my arms out to catch my tiny child. Aya shut her eyes and jumped.

I felt her body hit mine, plunging us both underwater. The sand had shifted out from under me, plunging us both under. Panic gripped my body for a moment, a thousand horrible thoughts racing through my mind. What if I couldn't find the surface again? What if the waves drove me under? Would we both down; me and Aya, just because of a bit of bad luck?

But a moment later, I had found my footing and pushed back to the surface, propelled by Aya's water-wings. The icy air slapped my face harshly, but as I held my daughter's warm body close to mine, I didn't feel cold at all.

"Again!" Aya cried "Again!"

But Natara was shaking her head. "Come on, it's time to go."

Aya turned to me, giving me her big puppy-dog eyes, clearly expecting me to give in (which I often did, much to Natara's annoyance).

If I had known what would happen only a week later, I would have let her jump a thousand times. I would have happily stayed in the water until the cold of winter, ready to take her into my arms. And when she was too tired to stand, I would carry her from the water, teasing her about being "my little mermaid" before wrapping her in a towel and buckling her in the back seat of the car so she could rest. Then, if she pretended to fall asleep (which she often did because she liked to be carried), perhaps I would carry her inside and let her sleep on my chest until she woke up and got ready to go to bed.

If I had known what would happen, I would have never let go of her.

But I did.

"Come on," I had said, letting her slip out of my arms so she could swim back to her mother on her own "Let's go home."