**if you see this you’ll know.
you’ll remember that december.
the moment the addiction stopped being a shadow
and became something i could name.
we made a pact that day—
i wasn't going to leave you there alone.
not because we were together.
(if you remember correctly, i went on a date that night.)
not even because we owed each other anything,
but because the demons were circling.
and in that moment,
i didn’t want you to be alone ever again.
i wanted to protect you from everything.
from all of it.
and for a little while,
we really tried.
but this isn’t a love story.
not anymore.
this is a vow.
because we didn’t speak them then.
so i’m saying them now.
(when they mean more.)
not as your wife.
not as your judge or jury.
but as the woman who now carries your name.
your bloodline.
your daughter.
never doubt this:
she will know who you are.
your name will never be a word she’s afraid to utter.
she will know what you endured—
and what you couldn’t.
she will know about your father—
how his death lived in your body longer than he ever got to.
how you built yourself into a man,
even when there was an emptiness you couldn’t fully describe.
she will know that war stayed inside of you.
long after your duty ended.
that service came at a cost.
that sometimes the demons moved faster than healing ever could.
she will know that you got yourself into spaces
that you never thought were meant for you.
(i’ll make sure she wears your ivy league colors with the same pride)
she’ll know you accomplished more things before she was born,
than men twice your age could ever dream of.
she will know that you loved her.
that you chose for her to enter this world.
and that even when you couldn’t stay,
you didn’t leave her.
you left a version of yourself you couldn’t survive being.
and i will never let her confuse collapse with abandonment.
i will make sure she knows the difference.
i know you’re probably angry.
because i wrote the truth.
because i named the darkness.
because i didn’t protect the illusion.
but i didn’t do it to punish you.
i did it to free you.
because what we didn’t say out loud nearly killed us.
and darling,
i know what it’s like to be the monster.
i know what it feels like to have PTSD overwrite your nervous system.
to scream into the void.
to burn something good down
just to see if the fire would make you feel alive.
but despite the damage,
you will always be redeemable.
you will always be her dad.
and forever be our family.
i promise you these specific things;
because you willingly helped me fulfill the only destiny i couldn’t live without.
and even if we never do this side by side—
even if someone else teaches her how to ride a bike,
or makes pancakes on sunday,
or sits in the front row of her school play—
you will not be erased.
even if you’re never there.
because she looks just like you.
and sometimes,
when she tilts her head a certain way
or laughs without warning—
you are in the room again.
and i hope one day you come home.
not to me. but forever to her.
so you can see what we made.
so you can see who she’s becoming.
because this is my sworn promise:
you can trust me.
you can trust me.
this is my vow.
and i will keep it.
every day.
for the rest of my life.