Daddy, are you sad again because Mommy isn’t here?

Three weeks ago, I was standing in the kitchen, half awake, staring at a bowl of burnt pancakes, when my 7-year-old daughter, Ada, said the one thing that completely broke me.

“Daddy, are you sad again because Mommy isn’t here?”

I froze.

The question hit me like a slap — gentle, but with layers of truth. I laughed nervously, grabbed the frying pan, and muttered, “Nah, Daddy just can’t cook like Mommy, that’s all.”

But Ada didn’t buy it. Kids never do.

The smell of smoke mixed with the soft scent of her strawberry shampoo as she danced around the kitchen, still in her pink pajamas, singing along to Encanto playing from my old Bluetooth speaker.

“Breakfast is supposed to be happy, Daddy!” she giggled.

I nodded, trying to fake enthusiasm while scraping off another black pancake. I’d promised myself I’d make her favorite — pancakes with honey — like her mom used to. But parenting, I was realizing, isn’t about perfection. It’s about trying, even when you’re running on fumes.

When her mom and I separated last year, I thought I had it figured out. I read every parenting blog, watched co-parenting videos, and bookmarked single-dad advice threads on Reddit.

But nothing prepares you for the silence of a house when your kid goes to sleep and you’re alone with your thoughts.

We got into the car, late as usual. Ada buckled herself in and said, “Daddy, can I tell Mommy I miss her today?”

“Of course,” I said.

She looked out the window, quiet for a while. Then softly added, “But I don’t want her to think you make me sad.”

I looked at her through the rearview mirror. Her eyes — big, brown, and full of empathy — reminded me of the reason I keep pushing through the chaos of single parenting.

The traffic light turned green, and I whispered, “You can tell her anything, baby. She loves you. We both do.”

She smiled. “You too, Daddy?”

“Always,” I said, faking a confidence I didn’t feel.

That evening, after work, I picked Ada up from her grandma’s house. She was unusually quiet.

“What’s wrong, sunshine?” I asked.

She hesitated, holding something behind her back. Then she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It’s for you.”

It was a drawing — our family. Me, her, and her mom. Except this time, all three of us were holding hands. Underneath, in her handwriting, it said:

“Family isn’t about being together. It’s about still loving when you’re apart.”

I felt my throat tighten. She looked up at me, eyes filled with the kind of wisdom you don’t expect from a child.

“Mommy said she’s sorry,” she whispered. “She said she misses us too.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The adult in me wanted to explain how complicated life can be — how love sometimes fades, how people drift apart.

But the parent in me realized she didn’t need explanations. She needed assurance.

So, I knelt down, hugged her, and said, “You’re right, Ada. We’re still a family. Always.”

That night, as I tucked her into bed, I realized something most parenting experts never write about: Kids don’t need perfect parents — they need present ones.

The next morning, I called her mom. We spoke — really spoke — for the first time in months. We agreed to start co-parenting more intentionally. Fewer arguments, more teamwork.

When I hung up, Ada peeked out of her room, smiling.

“Did Mommy say hi?”

“She did,” I smiled.

“And?”

“She said she loves you.”

Ada giggled. “I know.”

I used to think parenting was about structure — bedtimes, discipline, school runs, and perfectly balanced meals.

But Ada taught me that family life isn’t built in routines; it’s built in moments of understanding, forgiveness, and love that refuse to quit.

If you’re a single parent reading this — or struggling with co-parenting challenges — here’s my advice: stop chasing perfection. Show up. Be patient with yourself. Kids notice the effort more than the results.

Parenting isn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes, it’s about listening — really listening — to the tiny voices that remind us what love looks like.