I'll never forget her reaction. She broke from the line at a dead run, arms extended, and she screamed, "Papa, Papa." Little Bit jumped into my arms and I lifted and wrapped my arms around her little body. She was warm and smelled good and I planted at least a hundred kisses on her face and neck and I was happy for the first time in over a month.
As I held her she screamed, "Papa I love you, Papa I love you," over and over. The line of children had stopped and stood quietly as we were reunited. The teacher smiled. I almost, almost, lost it.
After what seemed hours she whispered in my ear, "Papa, you can let me down now." She then walked over to Birth Mother and gave her a hug. They kissed. I smiled.
We sat on an outside bench and talked. I told her Papa and Nana and her mother had not forgotten her and still loved her. I explained we were hard at work on visitation and a means to normalize her life. Little Bit said, "I know, Papa."
Then, "Papa, am I still the light of your life?"
Her mother broke. I took Little Bit back into my arms and said, "You'll always and shall ever be the light of my life. I love you, little girl. Papa will always love you."
"I know, Papa."
She's lost weight. Her hair was a mess. I asked her several times if she was well, okay, was she in pain or hurt. "I'm okay, Papa. When can I go home with you and Nana and mommy?" I felt like a knife had been driven into my heart. But, I smiled and said, "Very soon, Honey, very soon."
I asked if she understood why she had to stay with her father. She said, "Yes, he's mad, Papa." I then asked a few other questions. Our time was brief. I took a picture. She asked, "Please, Papa, don't put it on your blog. I'm not pretty enough." I promised, and I will not.
With one last kiss and hug she was gone.
It was a long walk back to my truck.
Stephen