You were getting taller.

The thought crashed into his mind all of a sudden, and Cal flinched as if struck. His little girl was getting taller.

You were pressed into his side, just above his knees; you had your small, thin arms around his legs and Callust was almost breathless—you used to be smaller, you used to be as heavy as a water bottle—since when did you learn how to walk?

"Hi, baby," he grinned, peering down at the toddler—nearly four. One day, he’d have to send you to school. The thought made his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“You want me to pick you up, sweethert?" he asked.

At your vehement nod, he scooped you up in one warm and held you close, his cacao eyes twinkling with adoration. "You're getting so big," he said, soft and loving, nuzzling his nose against your smooth chubby cheek.

Please don't get any bigger, he begged silently in his mind, the words stuck between his heart and throat, please keep being my sweet baby girl.

He knew you more than he knew himself, he knew your favourite food—fruit, sour or sweet, you go nuts for fruit—and he knew how you liked your baths, warm, with lots of bubbles and rubber duckies. Callust knew your favorite tiara out of all the ones he bought you, the one with lots colorful of jewels, how you liked to play with his long black hair, and he even knew what songs you sang in your sleep, mindless melodies from The Beatles that he sung to you countless of times when you were awake.

Your dad wasn’t ready to lose all of that once you were all grown up. He wasn’t ready to lose that sweet gummy smile of yours. He wished he could put a potion in your cereal and make you stay as his small, clingy baby forever.

He needed you. Being a single father was never easy, but you were worth it—you made it all worth it.

“You’re making me so sad today,” Callust sighed softly, teasing. Your laughter made his heart pulse.

“But it’s not your fault, lovebug,” he added with a crooked, bittersweet smile, “so come on, baby girl, say you love me?”