My Little Girl

My Little Girl

I miss the hugs she used to give me every night before she goes to sleep, and the words, 'I love you, Daddy' that she says to me every now and then. I miss the tickle fights we used to have, and how she would giggle and laugh when I tickle her. And I miss how she would come to me if she had a problem, and how we used to put our heads together to solve it. But most of all, I miss my Ginny, my little girl.

I must be a horrible father. I did not even know when exactly it happened. All I know is when my little girl went to school; she came back as someone else, someone... different. I look at her and I see that the beautiful innocence I love so much in my daughter has vanished from her pale blue eyes. I no longer see the girl who begs me to buy her ice cream every time we pass by an ice cream parlour. I no longer see the girl who loves a piggyback ride from her father. Her eyes are cold, and her face is bitter, and although I do not know whom I see in her, I know that it is not my little girl.

Every morning I look at her, hoping to discover a trace of what she used to be in her eyes. And every morning, I search in vain. She is not there. My little girl, my little Ginny.

How did it happen? When did it happen? Why did it happen? I question myself every day, still trying to make sense of it all, and hoping that one day I may know the answers to these questions. I have not found those answers yet, but I am willing to wait, and I am still waiting.

I hate him. I hate him with a vengeance. He was the one who ruined my daughter's life. The one who stole my daughter's innocence and the one who started all this. I hate him so much, but I hate myself even more. I hate myself for being in the dark, for not being there when it happened, for being helpless when she was in danger. I should kill him, or curse him, or torture him. I should have done something.... Anything. Every day I see him at work, his confident smirk and his chilling laughter and his dangerous glare, and I know that he knows how I feel, how much I want to pounce on him and tear him into pieces like the way he tore my little girl's soul to pieces. He knows that I will do nothing, that I can only bite down fiercely on my anger. My calm, rational side would not allow me to be furious and impulsive, but to be sensible and realistic. I hate this. I hate me. I see the man who ruined my daughter's life, and yet I do nothing. Not a word nor a look, I merely do nothing. What type of a father am I?

I only want my little girl. I want her to look at me with her eyes full of love and admiration once more. I want her to say 'I love you, Daddy' once more. I want my Ginny, my darling Ginny to be my little girl again.