Chapter 14 - THE DANCE CHLOE NEVER SAW
The first song was the one Jessi and I had chosen months earlier.
I had practiced.
Secretly.
Badly.
Jessi knew because apparently fathers cannot hide YouTube dance tutorials from daughters who share the family streaming account.
We began alone.
Halfway through the song, Emily stepped onto the floor.
Then Hannah.
Then Grace.
Then Mia.
Finally Sophie.
Suddenly, I had six daughters around me.
The guests began clapping.
I laughed.
Then I cried.
I didn't even try to hide it.
For fifteen years, I had measured my life by responsibilities.
Six lunches.
Six report cards.
Six medical forms.
Six Christmas lists.
Six different personalities requiring six different versions of me.
I had spent so long worrying whether I was doing enough that I rarely stopped to see what we'd actually built.
Jessi leaned toward me.
“You know what the funny part is?”
“What?”
“You always thought you were barely holding everything together.”
“That wasn't funny. It was accurate.”
She smiled.
“No, Dad. We always thought you had everything handled.”
That nearly destroyed me.
When the song ended, Sophie didn't let go.
Neither did the others.
Someone took a photograph.
Seven of us in the center of the dance floor.
No empty chair.
No missing space.
Complete.
Later that night, Jessi pulled me aside.
“There really is one last gift.”
“If another crate appears, I'm leaving.”
She laughed.
“No crate.”
Ryan handed me a small box.
Inside was a key.
I stared at it.
“What did you buy?”
“Nothing.”
Jessi explained that my daughters had secretly renovated the old lake cabin my father left me years earlier.
The place had been falling apart.
I always said I would fix it “when I had time.”
Apparently, six daughters and one future son-in-law decided I had waited long enough.
New roof.
New kitchen.
Repaired dock.
Six bedrooms.
“One for each of us,” Mia said.
“And one room for future grandchildren,” Jessi added.
I almost dropped the key.
“You spent money on that?”
Grace rolled her eyes.
“You raised six daughters. You're not allowed to lecture us about spending money on family.”
Fair point.
My phone buzzed.
For one horrible second, I thought it might be Chloe.
It wasn't.
It was an email from an attorney.
Daniel had already instructed his legal team to freeze the account containing the disputed support funds until ownership could be formally determined.
Attached was another document.
A signed statement from Chloe.
No excuses.
No accusations.
Just one paragraph:
I acknowledge that funds intended for my daughters were retained by me and that Luca Bellini did not prevent me from contacting our children.
At the bottom, Chloe had signed her full name.
For the first time in fifteen years, she had written the truth.
But beneath the signature was a handwritten sentence not meant for the attorney.
Please give my daughters the enclosed letters only if they ever ask for them.
May you like
There were six letters.
One for each girl.
