Joren here, talking about Fiona, my daughter. I didn’t worry when she refused to trim her hair at five—until she declared she needed it long for her “real daddy.” Those words shook me. Who was she discussing?
Who else did I not know in my wife’s life? Our world is Fiona. She asks funny questions and is energetic at five.
She is smart, sweet, and her giggle brightens even the gloomiest days. My wife Lina and I are proud of her. Something happened last week to ruin our pleasant lives.
Fiona wouldn’t let us clip her hair a few months ago. It was forbidden to brush and style her curls, something she enjoyed. Sitting on the bathroom floor, she held her hair like a toy.
“No, Daddy,” she insisted. “I want long hair.”
Lina and I believed it was a kid thing. Children are fussy, right?
Maris, Lina’s mother, often claimed her short haircut wasn’t “ladylike,” so we felt Fiona was choosing her own style. Yes, I told her. “Keep your hair long.”
The gum mess followed.
One of those dreaded parenting moments. While chewing gum, Fiona fell asleep on the couch during movie night. It was trapped in her hair when Lina and I discovered.
We tried peanut butter, ice, and an online vinegar method. Nothing worked. We had to cut her hair.
Lina knelt by Fiona, comb in hand. “Honey, we need to cut a bit of your hair,” she said. “Where the gum is.”
We were surprised by what followed.
Fiona sat up quickly, clutching her hair like her lifeline, in panic. “No!” she wailed. You can’t cut it!
I need it to identify myself when my true dad returns!”
Lina’s eyes widened, and my heart sunk. Fiona, what did you say? I asked softly, kneeling beside her.
She stared at me with big, tearful eyes, like she’d revealed a great secret. “I want my real daddy to know it’s me,” she whispered. Lina and I were startled.
I breathed deeply to relax. I gently said, “Fiona, honey, I’m your daddy.” “Why do you think I’m not?”
While trembling, she whispered, “Grandma said so.”
What? Why would Maris tell her?
What man did Fiona mean? “What did Grandma say, sweetie?” Lina inquired quietly. “She said I need long hair so my real daddy knows me when he comes back,” Fiona added, tightening her curls.
“She said he’ll be upset if he doesn’t recognize me.”
I was stunned. “Honey, what do you mean by ‘real daddy’?”
Fiona sniffled, looking at her hands. “Grandma said you’re not my dad.
She said my true dad departed but will return, and if I appear different, he won’t recognize me. “Fiona, listen,” Lina murmured, gently holding her hands. “You did nothing wrong.
Not in trouble. Tell me what Grandma said, please. Fiona nodded after pausing.
She claimed it’s secret. Daddy would be upset if I told you or him. I don’t want anyone mad at me.”
I swallowed hard as my chest clenched.
I whispered, “Fiona, you’re loved—by me, Mommy, and everyone. No one hates you. Grandma shouldn’t have said that.”
As Lina hugged Fiona, tears fell.
Fiona, you’re our daughter. Your true father is always here.”
Fiona nodded slowly, wiping her sleeve. But damage was done.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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