“Have you picked a name?” the nurse asked, filling out the chart. “Ellie,” Sarah smiled, not doubting for a second. Mark, however, ignored the birth entirely.
He didn’t show up at the hospital. He wasn’t there for the discharge. Sarah was heartbroken, but she decided to try one last time for the sake of her daughter. She bundled Ellie into her car seat and drove to the house.
It took a long time for the door to open. Finally, Mark appeared, looking disheveled and exhausted. “What do you want?” he muttered roughly.
“I came to introduce you to your daughter,” Sarah said, firmly pushing past him into the house.
Ignoring his protests, she walked straight into Eleanor’s old room and laid the baby on the bed. Ellie made a soft nursing sound in her sleep. “What are you doing? This is my mother’s room! Get that kid out of here!” Mark barked.
He stepped toward the bed to grab the car seat, but he stopped dead. His eyes were locked on the baby’s wrist. He knew that star-shaped mark; he had seen it on his mother’s hand every day of his life. Mark’s legs gave out, and he sank into a chair by the bed.
He reached out with trembling fingers, touched the tiny hand, and began to sob. It was a moment of absolute clarity, a breaking point that washed away his bitterness. Sarah moved back into the house that day, and the wall between them finally crumbled.
Mark became the most devoted, protective father Sarah could have imagined. Watching him play with little Ellie as she grew, Sarah often thought that those two were kindred spirits—connected by a bond that even death couldn’t break.
