Chapter 36
Nathan
The room feels still.
No pen scratching, no clock ticking loud enough to hide behind.
The silence stretches, heavy but patient.
Finally, I look up. My voice comes out low, steady, but trembling underneath. “I think I’m ready.”
A small nod from Dr. Pembrooke, nothing more.
“I’m ready to jump into the middle of the lake.”
“Ok, Nathan, I’m listening…Take your time.”
And before I can stop it, I’m there again.
Every moment, every time stamp is burnt into my memory forever.
The music. The carousel. The final mistake.
7:06 a.m. — Bedroom
Tiny footsteps slapped the hardwood like raindrops. The door was flung wide.
Ivy launched, all freckles and flying curls, and landed square on my chest.
“G’morning, Daddy!”
Her hair tickled my face; sugar-sweet breath warmed my cheek. She planted a kiss on my forehead, then scrambled across the mattress to press another to Maddison’s. Maddi cracked one eye open and winced.
“Head’s still pounding,” she whispered, fingertips kneading her temple. “Might sit today out.”
Ivy’s shoulders sagged, but only for a beat. She swung her gaze back to me, hope blazing. “Fair day, right?”
“Fair day,” I promised, though I was tired too, tugging her under the covers for one last snuggle. Her giggle felt like a sunrise.
7:42 a.m. — Bathroom
We stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the step stool, two idiots in toothpaste mustaches. Ivy spat, missed, and cackled. God, I loved it. I rinsed and winked.
“Chuck Taylors or cowboy boots?” I asked.
“Chucks!” She pumped a tiny fist. “Gotta run fast to the cotton candy.”
We high-fived on it.
10:11 a.m. — Front Door
Maddi sat on the couch, blanket over her eyes, migraine meds unopened beside her tea.
“Call if you need me,” she murmured.
I leaned in to kiss her hairline. “We’ll bring you something ridiculous and pink.”
Ivy blew a kiss. Maddi caught it and pressed it to her heart. “Don’t forget to grab the backpack leash.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s too old for that.”
“Yeah, I’m a big girl…I’m four.” Ivy said with four fingers raised.
Maddi waved me off. “I’ll feel better and actually sleep—just grab the backpack leash thingy, it’s bright, you’ll be able to see the pink dragon.”
“Daaaad!” Ivy yelled. “I need my water bottle!’
“Coming, coming.” I rushed over to grab the water bottle. It wasn’t until we got into the car that I realized I forgot her backpack leash.
11:03 a.m. — County Fairground
I leaned over and bumped her knee with mine once at the fair. "You know the rule," I said, keeping my tone light. "Wherever we go, we gotta pick a meeting spot. Just in case we get separated."
She turned her face toward me, a piece of her hair catching on the breeze.
"This bench," she said immediately, patting the weathered seat underneath her with sticky fingers. "Right here?"
"Right here." I nodded. "You got it?"
She pressed her lips together in a serious little line and nodded back. "Got it, Daddy."
I smile, pulling a pen out of my pocket without thinking. I flipped it between my fingers and gave her a look, lowering my voice like I was about to tell her the world's greatest secret.
"Let me show you what your mom and I used to do when we were kids," I said.
Her face lit up instantly, curious and eager.
I leaned forward, pressing the tip of the pen against the wood between us. The bench groaned under the pressure, but it held steady as I carefully etched two letters into the surface.
I + N
Then, slowly, I drew a heart around it.
It wasn’t perfect, my hand was too big, the pen too cheap, but it didn’t matter. Ivy watched me with this open, honest wonder that made every flaw feel like it was part of the magic.
When I capped the pen and slipped it back into my pocket, she was already smiling at me like I had just shown her how to hang the stars.
Before I could say anything, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around my waist, cotton candy and all.
I closed my eyes, holding her tight, willing myself to remember this.
This moment.
This bench.
My little girl, who hugged me like it was the safest place she knew.
11:27 a.m. — Midway
Ivy’s getting her face painted when she spots the perfect prize.
“Daddy, look!” She pointed—a pink plush llama the size of a carry-on —hanging above the Baseball Basket Challenge.
“For Mom,” she said with confidence. “Make her head feel better.”
Game on.
11:29 a.m.
Ball one—too flat. Bounced out.
Ball two—too much backspin. Out.
All right, this was the last ball.
I rolled my shoulders and narrowed my eyes on the basket, focusing like I was back on the football field. I locked in.
Third pitch clean arc, soft hands. The ball kissed the rim, circled… stayed. BOOM! It’s in!
The pink llama was handed over.
I turned, grin wide, looking back to where Ivy was getting her face painted just ten feet away.
But Ivy wasn’t there.
11:30 a.m. — Midway Chaos
“Ivy!” my voice cracked. I shoved past strollers, balloons, sunburned strangers, toward the face-painting station. I found her cotton-candy tufts crushed into gravel.
“Ivy Reign! Daddy’s here!”
Nothing.
11:35 a.m. — Main Gate
911 rings in my ear.
“Four-year-old female, one brown eye, one blue eye, brown hair, black Chucks, blue sundress, last seen with butterfly face paint on, please, please find her.”
Static sounded like surf in my skull.
12:02 p.m. — Command Post
Police radios buzz. Carnival noises blur. My hands shake around a white foam cup of water I can’t drink.
Maddison appeared at a dead sprint, hair wild, migraine forgotten.
“Where is she?” Her voice shredded my soul.
I stood, words ash in my throat. “She was right beside me. I—”
She pounded her fists against my chest. “How could you? The backpack, what about—”
I didn’t flinch. I deserved every hit. “I forgot it.”
Officers moved toward us; I waved them off. Maddison tore loose, ran toward the Ferris wheel, screaming Ivy’s name. I chased, catching her by the shoulders.
“We’ve searched every ride, every tent. She’s not here.” My voice belonged to a stranger.
Maddison’s knees buckled. I tried to hold her; she shoved me away, sobbing, and staggered into the crowd, calling for our daughter, but only echoes answered.
I watched her vanish between the tilt-a-whirl and the funnel-cake stand, as my world shattered.
Somewhere, a ride operator yelled, “Two minutes to launch!”
Two minutes.
That’s all it took to lose everything worth living for.
The pink llama slipped from my hand, landing face down in the dust.
When the words finally stop, I don’t even realize I’m shaking until I see my hands.
Dr. Pembrooke rises slowly from her chair. She doesn’t say anything at first, just crosses the room and rests a gentle hand on my shoulder.
It’s steady. Warm. The kind of touch that feels like understanding...
My voice breaks as I manage to say, “I’ve never told that story to anyone.”
She squeezes my shoulder, eyes soft with something that feels almost maternal. “I’m so sorry, Nathan.”