**Diary Entry – “Thank You, Fairy, for Giving Me a Dad”**
*Monday, 12th June*
“Mummy, when will the fairy bring me a dad?” my niece asked one evening, her wide eyes brimming with more hope than I could bear. We often played make-believe, sketching fantastical scenes or inventing stories. That night, she pulled out a drawing from her box—a girl whispering to a tiny fairy. Another showed the same girl stretching and laughing.
“This is me doing my morning stretches, then I’ll splash water on my face!” she chirped before drifting off to sleep.
It made me realise—life has a way of surprising us. But let me start from the beginning.
Years ago, I enrolled at the University of Cambridge alongside my dearest friend, Irena. We were inseparable—staying up late studying, dreaming of our futures. After graduation, we both became teachers. Irena also illustrated children’s books; her talent was unmatched. A London publisher noticed her work, and soon, she was offered a contract abroad. Off she went to New York—for three long years. We wrote, called, missed each other fiercely.
When she finally returned to Cambridge, she wasn’t alone. A little girl—her daughter—clung to her hand. She never spoke of the father. Her own parents had passed by then, so she raised the child alone, though I did my best to help. Little Emily was sunshine itself. In her free time, Irena sketched her daughter at every age—schoolgirl, teen, grown woman.
“How do you know what she’ll look like?” I’d ask.
“We’ll see,” she’d reply with a smile.
But joy never lasts. When Emily turned two, Irena’s heart gave out. Years abroad had strained her health, and one day, she was simply gone.
I filed for adoption immediately. My greatest fear? That strangers might take her. But by some miracle, I became her mother. She knew her real mum lived among the stars. At bedtime, we’d pore over Irena’s sketches—they soothed her, as if her mother were still near.
Emily grew clever, kind, full of dreams. At thirteen, I came home from my birthday dinner to find a tall man on my doorstep, his accent thick. His broken English sent chills through me.
He was… Emily’s father. Her real one. American. He explained that Irena had left after a misunderstanding—she’d never told him about the pregnancy. By the time he learned the truth, I’d already adopted her. He never imagined she’d been here all along, safe under my care.
When Emily overheard, she froze, studying his face for traces of herself. Over tea, she began to smile. He left for a hotel, and later, she clutched her fairy doll, whispering, “Thank you, fairy, for giving me a dad.”
Months passed before everything settled. Emily now lives in New York with her father—a large family, three half-siblings, but she’s found her place. She attends school, learns the language, dances. We write, video call, share stories.
I miss her—achingly. But I’m happy.
Happy that my Irena left behind not just a wonderful girl, but a force of love that drew her daughter’s father home, even after all these years.
Life writes the strangest tales—ones of faith, love, and the kind of magic that lingers long after the last page.
