"Sometimes, the smallest smile can hold the loudest truth."
*****
(Brayden's POV )
The afternoon air felt warm, gentle, and filled with sunlight spilling through the glass windows of the art room.
The scent of watercolor paint mixed with the soft laughter of children, creating an almost peaceful scene—
if only my chest didn't feel this heavy.
I stood by the doorway, staring at the sight that somehow pulled me back in time.
In the corner of the room sat a little girl, sketching quietly.
Her dark hair flowed down her shoulders, the ends catching the light like strands of silk.
Her smile—pure, warm, and strangely familiar. Too familiar.
My steps grew heavy as I entered.
Some of the children turned to look, their curious eyes flicking toward my expensive suit before going back to their colors.
But that little girl—she didn't even glance up.
Her focus was steady, her small hand moving with the kind of sincerity I hadn't seen in years.
I cleared my throat softly.
"Hey, Ella."
Her head snapped up, and a bright grin instantly bloomed across her face.
"Uncle! What are you doing here?"
I knelt down to meet her gaze. "I just wanted to see you draw. May I sit here?"
"Of course!" she chirped, patting the empty chair beside her. "Do you wanna see my drawing?"
A faint smile tugged at my lips, though my chest felt tight. "Sure. What are you drawing?"
She proudly held up her paper. "This is a hope flower! Mommy said if we have a wish, we should draw this flower. Once it's done, we can write our wish on the back or whisper it in our hearts."
Hope flower.
The word hit me hard—stirring up the dust of long-buried memories.
Brianna used to say the same thing.
"If you believe, Brayden… hope blooms like a flower. But only if you nurture it with a sincere heart."
Her voice echoed faintly in my head, gentle yet unshakable, like a ghost refusing to fade.
"Why does it have to be a hope flower?" I asked quietly.
Ella looked up at me, her eyes clear and bright—eyes that, for some reason, felt like a mirror of my own.
"Mommy said hope flowers have to be drawn beautifully. If it's pretty enough, our wish will come true faster."
My chest tightened.
Her innocent words carried a weight I couldn't bear.
"So you draw this flower often?" I asked.
She nodded eagerly. "Uh-huh! I have a lot of wishes!"
I swallowed hard. "Can I ask… what's your wish this time?"
Her smile faltered. The crayons in her hand stilled.
"Today at school, Teacher talked about families," she murmured.
"My friends told stories about their dads. But I got confused… because I think every family should have a dad, right? But I don't have one."
The words—so simple, yet they struck like lightning.
The world around me dimmed, sound fading into the pounding of my own heartbeat.
"So… you've never met your father?" I managed to ask, voice barely steady.
She shook her head, eyes still fixed on her drawing.
"No. I asked Mommy once, but she said Daddy can't see us right now because he's busy doing something important.
Mommy said if I draw lots of hope flowers, Daddy will find us someday."
My hands clenched tightly in my lap.
My breath caught.
If I draw lots of hope flowers, Daddy will find us someday…
Every word out of her mouth was a blade—sharp, merciless, and piercing straight through.
I could hardly breathe.
I stared at her for a long time, hoping for any reason to doubt it.
But everything fit too perfectly.
The way she spoke.
The way she smiled.
Even her face… was Brianna's reflection.
"So… you don't know who your father is?" I whispered.
Ella shook her head again. "Mommy just said he's a good person. But really, really busy. So I shouldn't be sad."
I turned away, looking out the window.
The sunlight that once felt warm now burned painfully bright.
Outside, flowers swayed gently in the garden breeze—each one whispering of things long lost.
That night.
The words I should've never said.
Brianna's sobs behind the door.
And the morning that came without her.
Seven years.
And now, sitting right in front of me, was a little girl with my own eyes.
I reached out and gently patted Ella's head.
Her hair was soft… too soft.
That single touch was enough to shatter the walls I'd built for years.
"Uncle," she said suddenly, her voice sweet and pure. "If I make lots of hope flowers, Daddy will come, right?"
I forced a smile, though my throat ached.
"Yes… maybe he will, Ella."
Her smile returned, radiant and carefree, as she went back to coloring—
as if the world had never broken her heart.
And I could only watch.
Watch the little miracle who might just be my own flesh and blood.
Guilt slipped in like cold water.
If Ella truly was my daughter…
then Brianna had carried everything alone for seven years.
Without me.
"Uncle?" she called softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Why do you look sad?" she asked gently. "If you're sad, your hope flower will wilt."
I let out a weak laugh. "I'm just… missing someone."
Ella nodded thoughtfully, then slid a blank sheet of paper toward me.
"Then Uncle should draw a hope flower too—so the person you miss will come back."
I stared at the paper for a long time.
Such a simple thing, yet it felt like a symbol of something much greater.
With trembling hands, I picked up a colored pencil and began to draw a petal.
Each line felt like a confession I had never spoken aloud.
Deep down, I knew—this wasn't just a flower.
It was the beginning of everything.
*****
A few minutes later, when Ella was busy with her friends again, I stood up slowly.
Before leaving, I turned one last time, memorizing every detail of her face.
But I froze when her small voice called out once more.
"Uncle… if you ever meet my dad, tell him I'm not mad that he took so long.
I just want him to know… I've been waiting."
I stopped in the doorway.
My eyes burned, my throat dry.
No words came out.
Only in silence did I whisper the truth she didn't know.
"I'm sorry, Ella… I'm the one who never came."
*****
Outside, the afternoon sun tilted westward.
The sky was still blue, but its light had softened, filtering through the swaying leaves.
I stood there for a long while, staring at the same garden with eyes that no longer saw it the same way.
For the first time in seven years, I realized — my own blood had been waiting for me.