|
|
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, and Mutant Enemies.
She was never mine to begin with, I was only borrowing her for awhile.
I don't know who wrote that. Or said it. I don't know if it was from a book, or a movie, or some other famous person. But it summed things up perfectly.
Because she was never mine to begin with and I knew that I was only borrowing her for awhile.
I see them now, talking to each other, exchanging small touches and smiles and I know that it is time. Time to give her back to who she rightfully belongs. I had her for nine years. Nine wonderful, glorious years of love and laughter, fights and cries.
And she gave me my daughter. My beautiful, wonderful daughter, who is the sunshine in my life.
We both knew I could not have children, but she wanted to have a child, to be a mother. So she went to the clinic and requested a sperm donor. A year later, our daughter was born.
She told me that she had specifically requested a donor who looked like me, but I know she lied and she knows that I know she lied. How could I not? My daughter looks like him in every way. Eyes the color of chocolate, hair the color of rich mahogany. But I don't mind. For I knew she would always call me daddy, just as I knew my love needed to have a reminder of him.
Because I knew she was never mine to begin with.
They're moving to LA. Two hours away by car, but it may as well be two hundred, because she would not be with me. Neither of them would be with me. I could always move down there as well, but I wouldn't. I was needed here, and my time with her was done and his time with her has begun again.
After all, I was only borrowing her for awhile.
He's here with me, now, in this room while I write. I don't know what he's waiting for. Does he expect me to rage and scream? Or does he expect me to beg and cry? I won't do any of that, except maybe cry, but that will be long after they have left. Then I will grieve, not for what I lost, but for what I knew I never had.
For she was never mine to begin with, I was only borrowing her for awhile.
She won't know. She'll never know. Maybe one day I'll tell someone, or one day someone will read this, and they'll know how much I loved her.
Because it took me nine years to find a way to anchor his soul to him.
They're leaving now. My daughter came in and hugged me tight, not wanting to go. I told her that I loved her and that I would always be here for her, but she had to go with mommy. Then I passed her to him after one final kiss on the cheek, and he nodded to me and left.
Then she came to say goodbye.
I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her. I could write it a million times, and it still wouldn't convey how much I love her. But it's because I love her that I'm letting her go.
She was never mine to begin with.
I kissed her softly on the lips and held her close, feeling her heart beat beneath her breast, her warmth, her power, her love. I know she loves me, but not like she loves him. She loved him from the beginning and she will love him until the end.
I was only borrowing her for awhile.
I watched from the doorway as they drove away, my daughter waving frantically out the back window of the car. I lifted my hand and waved back, my heart shattering. I wanted to go after them, to stop them, to stop her and tell her she couldn't leave.
But I didn't. For that very moment had taken me nine years to make happen. And during that time I loved her and laughed with her, fought with her and held her when she cried; all the while knowing that this night would come, and I would return her to him, to the man which she'd always belonged.
Bloody hell, I'd give everything if that wasn't true, but it is.
She was never mine to begin with, I was only borrowing her for awhile.