"The truth is rarely pure..."

Eventually you disturb the uncomfortable silence.

"I'm hungry, Daddy. Make me breakfast?"

"Of course, Princess," I say and climb out of bed.

I slip on my dressing gown, tie it at the waist and head to the kitchen. Frying pan, on the stove. Kettle, boiled. English muffin, cut and under the grill. Rashers of bacon, sizzling until crisp. Tea, brewed in a small pot. Butter, on the toasted muffin and in the pan. Eggs, cracked and scrambled. A dollop of crème fraîche. A pinch of coarse sea salt. A twist of freshly ground black pepper. You appear in the kitchen.

Entire industries exist to make women look their best and achieve their full physical potential. Fashion, hair, cosmetics, plastic surgery, spas etc. None of them have ever come close to matching the astonishing beauty I see before me right now. Makeup removed and fresh faced, hair tied back casually, wearing my white shirt from the night before. I gaze at you, unable to find words, unable to find my voice.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" you ask as you sit down.

"Nothing, Sweetie," I reply placing your plate in front of you and pouring the tea.

"Mmmm, yummy. Thank you, Daddy!" you say before tucking in.

You eat heartily, with the same gusto you had when you were waking me up. I watch you polish off the lot. I'm happy and smile, but unable to shake the nagging dysphoria that plagues me whenever I know we are about to say 'goodbye'. That dreaded word, which catches in my throat with every utterance.

"Baby girl, when am I going to have you here for good?"

"I have to finish school first, Daddy. You know that," you tell me with a forlorn sigh. "Will you wait for me?"

I think we both know my willingness or ability to wait for you is not the issue here, but I bite my tongue.

"Of course, Poppet. I'll wait for you forever."