I took my daughter, terminally ill with stage 4 cancer, to get to know the ocean and fulfill her last wish, but then the hotel manager knocked on our door and said, “There’s something about this journey that you don’t know.”

Mike.”

I looked up at the manager.

“Where is she?”

The man hesitated for a moment.

Down in the lobby. But he said that if you don’t want to see it, he’ll leave immediately.

Emily was still holding the music box.

Mom, who is Mike?

I knelt in front of her.

For three years I had imagined what I would say if that time ever came. I had thought about protecting my daughter and explaining that Mike didn’t deserve to see her.

But when I looked at Emily’s thin face, I realized that the decision didn’t just belong to me.

“Mike is your father,” I whispered.

Emily was silent.

Is the dad who lives far away?

“Yes.

“Is he here?”

I nodded.

Do you want to meet him?

My daughter thought for a moment before asking:

Is he afraid of me?