Chapter 3: Third Day

Saturday mornings have a different kind of quiet. No alarm clock screaming, no rush to pack lunches or tie shoelaces in a hurry. 

Just the soft sound of birds outside and Maryium’s excited footsteps thumping down the hallway before I even opened my eyes properly.

“Yeah! Park!!!!”

She burst into the bedroom wearing her oversized yellow sun hat the one that swallowed half her face and made her look like a walking sunflower. Arms wide open, grin wider. I laughed, already surrendering. “Yeah, park.”

Arinika was still buried under the blanket, face half-hidden in the pillow. She’d come home late again last night, smelling faintly of antiseptic and exhaustion. 

I’d kissed her forehead when she collapsed into bed, and she’d mumbled something about “tomorrow being my day off too… maybe.” But shifts don’t care about maybe.

I dressed Maryium in her favorite red jacket, tucked the hat back on properly (it immediately slid sideways again), and we stepped outside.

The wind was warm for March unusually gentle, carrying the smell of cut grass and distant barbecue smoke. 

Other parents were already out: strollers rolling, kids chasing each other across the green. I felt a small pang in my chest.

I wished Arinika was here too. Walking between us, holding Maryium’s other hand, laughing at how the hat kept falling over her eyes. But she needed sleep more than sunshine today.

We hadn’t gone far when Maryium froze mid-step. “Hey Daddy, look!!! A dog!!”

She pointed with the full force of her entire arm. A golden retriever was trotting along the path, leash loose in its owner’s hand. Tail wagging like a metronome set to happy.

“Maryium, don’t disturb the poor dog,” I said automatically, already reaching to steer her away.

But the owner a middle-aged man in a faded hoodie knelt down with a smile. “Aww, you can pet him. He doesn’t bite.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, cheeks warming.

“No, it’s fine. My dog loves when people rub his head.” He scratched behind the dog’s ears for emphasis. The tail went into overdrive.

Maryium didn’t need a second invitation. She dropped to her knees and buried both hands in golden fur. “Hahah, good boy!”

The dog leaned into it, tongue lolling, eyes half-closed in bliss. Maryium giggled so hard she almost toppled over.

After a few minutes of pure joy, we thanked the owner and kept walking. Maryium ran ahead, chasing leaves, then circled back, then ran again endless energy in a tiny body.

Eventually we reached the big bench under the old oak tree. I collapsed onto it with a sigh that belonged to someone twice my age. Maryium climbed straight onto my lap, chest heaving from all the sprinting.

“Daddy… I’m thirsty.”

“Let’s buy a water bottle.” I nodded toward the little kiosk across the path.

Her face crumpled instantly. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want water.” She crossed her arms, lower lip out. Classic negotiation stance. I knew where this was going.

“Ice cream?” she asked, eyes hopeful.

“Maryium, girl, no ice cream today.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “Remember the chocolate milk last night? If you act like a good girl, I’ll give you more later.”

The mention of chocolate milk worked like magic. Her pout softened, eyes brightening at the promise. “More chocolate milk?”

“Promise.”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay… water is fine.”

I bought two bottles one for each of us and we sat there for a while, sipping slowly, watching other kids play. The sun filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns across her yellow hat. By evening, the energy had finally run out.

Maryium was draped over my back like a sleepy koala, arms around my neck, cheek pressed to my shoulder. I carried her home the long way past the park, down the quiet street, and for some reason, past the hospital where Arinika was working her shift.

I didn’t plan it. My feet just turned that direction. Maybe I wanted to feel closer to her, even if I couldn’t see her. The building glowed softly against the darkening sky, windows lit like little squares of warmth. 

Somewhere in there, Arinika was probably checking vitals, reassuring someone, doing the quiet hero work neither of us ever talked about enough.

I shifted Maryium higher on my back. She mumbled something dreamlike and nuzzled closer.

When we got home, I set her down gently. “Hands and legs first, okay? Then straight to bed.”

She whined, eyes already half-closed. “But I’m sleepy…”

“I know, sweetheart. Quick wash, then sleep.”

She shuffled to the bathroom like a tiny zombie, splashed water on her hands and face, wiped her legs with a towel, and let me tuck her in without another word. Within seconds, she was out hat still crooked on the pillow beside her.

I closed her door softly and walked back to the living room. The heater was on again, humming its familiar lullaby. I sank into the armchair, pulled the diary onto my lap, and opened it to the next entry.

The handwriting looked a little shakier this time, like the words had been harder to form.

1946 Munich

Today I had a dream. Dream of my mother. She left me and the world three years ago. In the dream I saw her in a wheat field. I cried. Then memories of my dad leaving us came. He was forced to join the war. I was sitting, hiding under my knees, crying.

 And then he came Bob. I really wanted to explain everything. My mouth opened but words didn’t come. But still somehow Bob understood everything. He sat beside me.

At the bottom of the page, in small, certain letters:

Friends are the best thing. 

I let the book rest against my chest for a long moment. Outside, the wind picked up again, tapping at the window like it wanted in. Inside, the heater kept humming. 

The house was quiet except for Maryium’s soft breathing down the hall and Arinika’s empty side of the bed waiting for her return. I closed the diary carefully.

Friends are the best thing. My father had learned that early when bread was gray and dreams hurt and words wouldn’t come. He’d carried that lesson the rest of his life. Quietly. Steadily.

And here I was, passing pieces of it to my daughter, one small story at a time. I leaned my head back against the chair.

Tomorrow was Sunday. Maybe Arinika would be home earlier. Maybe we’d all go to the park together.

Maybe. For now, the diary waited on the table, and the heater kept its steady watch.

To be continued…