One Day, My 7-Year-Old Daughter Came Home From Grandpa’s House and Cheerfully Said, “Mom, Did You Know Grandpa Always Tells Me to Close My Eyes? Then We Go Into the Bathroom Together and Play Our Secret Game.” I Froze. When I Asked What Kind of Game, She Replied, “Grandpa Said You’d Definitely Be Angry If You Found Out. He Even Asked Me Not to Tell Anyone Until We Finished.” My Heart Began Pounding. I Immediately Grabbed My Car Keys and Drove to My Father’s House. But When I Opened the Bathroom Door Without Warning, My Knees Nearly Gave Way, and I Burst Into Tears…

After my mother’s death, I couldn’t even bear to look at those old boats.

Dad approached me.

“One day, Emily asked what games you liked when you were little. So I told her about our boats.”

His voice trembled.

“She asked me to make some for her, too. Then she said she wanted to give you the same game for your birthday.”

Tears began rolling down my cheeks.

“But why were you making her close her eyes?”

Dad smiled gently.

“Because every week, I added something new. She’d close her eyes at the doorway while I arranged the boats. Then she’d come inside and guess what had changed. Sometimes we’d paint the little boats together.”

He showed me a small blue boat.

“Emily made this one. She said it’s for Mommy.”

I picked it up.

On the side, in uneven children’s handwriting, were the words: