So I said it. Slowly. Carefully. While he held her hand.
Sophie didn’t cry at first. She sat very straight in her chair and asked a lot of questions. Nursing student questions. What stage. Which medications. Had they done genetic testing. What was his MMSE score. Mark didn’t know what half of the questions meant. Sophie wrote everything down in a little notebook.
Then she put the pen down.
She looked at her father.
“Daddy,” she said. She hadn’t called him Daddy since she was about eleven.
And then she cried. She cried into his shoulder, and he held her and rocked her like she was still small enough to fit in his lap.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said into her hair. “I’ve got some good years left. The doctor said. I’m going to be at your graduation. I’m going to walk you down the aisle someday. I’m going to make terrible jokes at your wedding.”
