For My Daughter Book Novels & Stories

For real? I looked at my daughter—six years old, all curious eyes and boundless energy—and realized this was one of those moments parenting books couldn’t prepare you for. Callan stood in the doorway with Liam on his hip, both of them watching me. The finished book sat on the table between us like a living thing. I pulled Ellie back onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and the outdoors. “Yes, sweetheart,” I said softly. “I’m really happy. Not pretend happy. The real kind.”

That way, Luna, you can try a little bit of everything and choose what you like… My father was looking at me intently, trying to understand what was going on. I sighed softly, looking at him, not knowing where to begin. Alexander squeezed my hand in his, a gesture of support. Alexander: Dada, your daughter, my Luna… she’s had so few choices in her life… for her… even things that might seem simple to us, like reading is simple, it’s impossible… She’s tasted so little in her life… everything is new to her.

At me. “For being brave,” she continued, “for loving me… even when I wasn’t easy to love. For letting me find my way.” Tears blurred my vision. I didn’t try to hide them. “You don’t have to thank me,” I whispered. “You’re my daughter. I love you. I always will.” Sophie leaned into me, pressing her forehead lightly against my shoulder. “I know,” she breathed. The baby cooed—a soft little sound, almost a sigh. She lifted her tiny hands as if she understood the gravity of the moment. It tugged a breathless laugh from all of us.

It was strange having someone my age as a stepdad. Filled with enthusiasm, Mom prepared a feast. Bryan had the beverages covered, and I recalled it was the same drink he tried to feed my mother that afternoon. “You’ve been busy, babe. Have something to drink.” Bryan handed Mom a drink. My skin crawled when he called Mom “babe”. The whole thing was just so bizarre. To give Mom and Bryan some space, I finished my dinner quickly and went to my room. While I was changing my clothes, Bryan opened the door to my bedroom.

I don't know what Harvey's willing to do to make sure no human exposes them. "Still working on your project?" Dad asks after I descend from upstairs. I needed an excuse to hermit in my room in front of my computer. "Yeah." "Is this for midterms?" I look over my shoulder on my way into the kitchen. "No it's just for... English. It's a book report thing. Super long." My dad doesn't turn from the football game. "Which book?" "Uh, Girls of Slender Means. It's a feminist literature course."

“You have three hours, Primus! Don’t make me burn down your room!” "I dare you to try!" I chuck a book at the closing door, missing her back by inches. It hits the wall with a crash, breaking into pieces as the spine collapses. I pick up the pieces. It's a geography book that my father gave me on my 73rd birthday after he conquered the southern continent of Mytess. "Why was I reading this?"

Like he didn’t even recognize me. Reluctantly I handed over the toy, I didn’t want him to leave. Talking to him was a gift I haven’t had in a long time. “What’s your daughter’s name?” “Alexis.” Quickly, I tried to mask the surprise that I knew he could read on my face, but not before he noticed. “Alexis. A beautiful name.”

"Books. What do teenage girls read?" She stared at me. Then smiled slightly. "Romance, mostly. Fantasy. Some contemporary." "Which one?" "Which... which genre?" "Which book?" She looked at the shelf. Pulled one out. "This one's popular. My daughter loved it." I took it. Looked at the cover. A girl. A sunset. A title I couldn't pronounce. "And this one." She handed me another. "This is her favorite series." I took that one too.

"Did you bring your new puzzles?" "Yes, love. I will leave them with you?" "How about my textbooks?" "It's in your backpack, love." "With my iPad?" "Yes, love. And I've booked an executive suite, love. I'm pretty sure it has a television." I saw how her eyes glimmered in excitement. I can't deny it, my daughter is a little bit of a nerd.

Literally. The t-shirt saved me. An old, wrinkly Lakers t-shirt that was partially tucked inside the waistband in front, and hid most of her hips and waist. And knowing that the shirt probably belonged to my son poured cold water into my veins. Yet it didn’t help the fact that she wasn’t wearing any bra. Nor did it stop the instant flood of images of me licking and kissing her breasts. It ruined every trace of self-control there was left, and I was horrified by the risk of her seeing what was going on in my pajama’s pants. How could I get turned on like a premature teenager by my daughter-in-law? Or a more honest question...