Late one night, Jessy’s stepfather received a panicked call from the eight-year-old, begging to be picked up from her dad’s house. Racing across town, he arrived to find the back door wide open and Jessy trembling in a kitchen covered in cake batter.
Jessy and I have always been close. Since her mom and I got married, we’ve built a bond that feels like I’ve been in her life forever. She’s eight now, with bright blue eyes and a smile that melts hearts. But tonight, something was off.
Jessy usually loves staying at her dad’s. It’s not far from ours, and she enjoys baking with him. But tonight felt different. Just past 11 p.m., my phone buzzed with her name.
“Jessy? What’s wrong?” I answered.
“Please come and get me. You have to come now,” she said, sounding terrified. “And don’t tell Mom.”
A father talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney
My heart dropped. “Jessy, what happened? Are you okay?”
“I can’t… I just need you to come now,” she begged. The call went dead.
I stood frozen, my mind racing with possibilities. What scared her? Was she hurt? Did her dad get angry? I jumped in the car, my pulse racing, thoughts swirling in my mind.
Finally, I reached the house. The back door was wide open. I jumped out and called, “Jessy!” No answer.
Inside, I found cake batter splattered everywhere and Jessy standing frozen, shaking, with a whisk in her hand.
“Jessy?” I whispered, crouching down to her level. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Dad’s going to be so mad. You don’t know him like I do… he’s going to yell.”
I hugged her tightly. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
She explained that while making a cake, the mixer exploded, and her dad went to the store for more eggs. Just then, her dad, Mark, walked in, his smile fading at the sight of Jessy’s tears.
“What happened?” he asked softly, concern in his voice.
Jessy tensed beside me, gripping my arm. Mark stepped closer. “Jessy, are you okay?”
“I… I didn’t mean to make the mess,” she whispered.
Mark knelt in front of her. “I’m not mad. I promise.”
Jessy looked up, still scared. “But what if you get mad again?”
“I won’t,” he said gently. “I’ve worked hard to change. I don’t want you to be afraid of me anymore.”
I placed a hand on Jessy’s shoulder. “He’s telling the truth. People can change.”
Jessy hesitated but finally nodded. “Okay, but I don’t want you to yell at me.”
Mark promised he wouldn’t. Then he suggested we clean up the mess together.
As we worked, Jessy slowly relaxed, laughing at Mark’s jokes about the cake explosion.
Once the kitchen was clean, Mark asked if they could try making the cake again. Jessy agreed, and this time, everything went smoothly.
By the end of the night, Jessy looked at me and said, “I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”
I smiled, feeling relief. “That’s a good idea, Jess.”
Mark nodded, grateful. For the first time in a long while, it felt like they were starting to heal.
