A Poem For Your Daughter Novels & Stories

"Dear daughter, I thought of giving you everything that this world can't give but then I realized it's very small compared to the love I have for you, that's when I remembered something very important to you, something that would change your life for the best. I mean something that will bring only happiness in your life. When I was thinking, I discovered something about you. I saw why you've been through all those difficulties and problems, they are all centered on the throne that's why am leaving it behind for your husband so you can be problems-free. So you can have an amazing life like others.

Each word felt like peeling open my ribs, exposing something soft and tender that the world had already tried too many times to cut into. When I hold my daughter, I know the world outside can burn and it won’t matter. Because she is mine. She is ours. She came from love—the kind of love I never thought I would have, the kind of love that still scares me with how much it demands from me. I would give her anything. I would give her my last breath if it meant she’d never know the kind of pain I’ve carried. Tears blurred my vision, splashing onto the keyboard. I wiped them quickly, sniffling, forcing myself to keep going.

Her skin was warm — she was never warm in the Citadel, it ran cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with what inhabited it — but right now her skin was blazing, as though the thing in the pool had left a residue of itself against the inside of her body. "Daughter," she whispered. She tested the word in the silence of her room. It was the wrong word for a dream. Dreams said mother, or child, or the names of people you missed. They didn't say daughter in a voice that sounded like it was addressing a specific, significant inheritance.

I unlocked it and pulled out a small leather notebook. For a long moment, I just stared at the blank page. Then I started to write. My Daughter, The words felt foreign under my hand. I wasn’t sure why I was writing this. Maybe because if I didn’t, the things I wanted to say would vanish with me one day, and she’d never know. I told her she wasn’t a weakness. That she was the only thing that made me doubt everything I’d been taught. That if I could, I’d burn down the entire kingdom just to keep her safe.

Because pleasing her had been my measure of worth. I carried her for nine months. Every kick, every movement, every heartbeat… mine and hers intertwined. I imagined her eyes, her tiny hands, the first time I would cradle her. And then they took her. My mother. My ex-husband. Smiling at me, praising my courage, my selflessness, while I stood hollow inside. I told myself I forgave them. I told myself I wanted them happy. I repeated it like a mantra. But still, each time I imagined my daughter’s laugh, my chest constricted. Each imagined bedtime, each imagined story she heard… I wasn’t there.

That our daughter— Everything goes black.

Anger filled my veins. "Fuck you and I swear if you hurt my daughter I'll fucking kill you bitch and you'll regret the day you were born!" She sighed softly. "I don't think you're in a position to threaten me but anyway I poisoned your daughter and if you want the antidote you'll have to beg me for it."

she screamed and I blanched, taking a step back as her words lodged in my heart like daggers. "Your father has another daughter, Delia and if you continue to be such a fucking wuss, you're going to be left with nothing," she said as she grabbed me by the arm, her nails vicious as they sunk into my skin. "You're here to cry about being bullied again, aren't you? You are a fucking HERRERA Delia, if you can't fight them, then you pay others to destroy them for you. Never let anyone belittle or look down on you, never let them take what belongs to you. Hoard everything you fucking covet. You need to remember that the poor are beneath you and should be trampled upon. Never let anyone beneath you

Light flowed into Lyra, stabilizing the poison’s lingering touch, weaving protection around both mother and child. Minutes stretched, heavy and endless, until Lyra gasped sharply, her eyes wide with both pain and wonder. The first cries of life broke through the stillness—the daughter, small and perfect, her tiny fingers curling around Lyra’s trembling ones. Lyra’s tears spilled freely as she pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead, her sobs trembling between relief, awe, and overwhelming love.

“My beautiful daughter, you’ve walked through darkness, and you rose.” “And you held yourself steady when the world refused to understand you,” Dad added, placing a hand over his heart. “Our daughter… forged from fire.” I felt myself shaking, overwhelmed. “I… I tried. I didn’t always know how. I made mistakes. I hurt people. I almost…” Mother reached out, touching my cheek. “You lived, and you learned. That is enough.” Father took my hand, and I'd never being in a situation that felt so unreal. “My moonbeam,” he drawled, eyes sparkling. “We are proud of you. In whatever you do, don't forget that.”