The Man my Daughter Chose

The morning light sliced through my curtains like an unwelcomed guest - bright, insistent, and entirely too early. I ignored it, as one does with most unwanted things.

Unfortunately, my phone had other ideas. It buzzed against the glass surface of my nightstand, rattling like it had something important to say. Spoiler alert: it didn't.

I reached for it with the grace of someone who'd been performing surgery until well past midnight and squinted at the screen.

A message from John. How thrilling.

John: Flying to London tonight. Don't wait up.

Ah, John. Ever the considerate husband - sparing me the agony of his presence with his usual efficiency. I tapped out a quick reply.

Me: Didn't plan on it.

I dropped the phone and turned back into my pillow, pulling the sheets up to my nose.

Soon enough, the day would begin, and I would be required to carry on my infinite duties and responsibilities.

But for now -

The sound of small, determined footsteps echoed down the hall.

The door burst open without so much as a knock, and my five-year-old daughter made her entrance - bold, commanding, and utterly unapologetic.

Alina always entered a room like she owned it, which I found both impressive and vaguely terrifying.

"Mommy," Alina announced, her tiny figure framed in the doorway like a very short queen. "I want pancakes."

I cracked one eye open. She stood there in her pajamas, dark curls a glorious tangle, clutching Sir Reginald Flopsy - her long-suffering stuffed rabbit - by one floppy ear with the iron grip of a war general. Her expression was grave. Negotiations had begun.

"Why be needy today of all days when neither your aunty nor your nanny is around?" I asked, my voice still rough with sleep.

"Because you're my mommy," she climbed onto the bed and sat on my back, tugging at the bed cover.

"And what makes you think I'm making pancakes?"

"Because you love me," she said without hesitation.

Hard to argue with that level of self-awareness.

I sighed, turned over and brushed a wild curl away from her face. "One day, you're going to use your powers for evil."

She grinned, entirely unfazed. "But not today."

Ten minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen, hair twisted by a heatless curler, A thin, short satin robe tied loosely around my waist.

The morning light filtered through the towering glass windows, bathing the sleek marble countertops in a soft glow. The quiet hum of the espresso machine filled the air, blending with the scent of butter and batter.

I flipped pancakes with the kind of efficiency one acquired after years of handling scalpels and saving lives.

Alina sat at the kitchen island, legs swinging under the stool, conducting an animated conversation with Sir Reginald.

"Mommy," she began, her voice serious. "Do you think princesses get bored?"

I glanced over at her, eyebrow arched. "Bored of what?"

"Of being princesses." She propped her chin on her little hand. "They always wear fancy dresses and go to balls, but that sounds kinda boring if you do it all the time. What if they just want to wear pajamas and eat pancakes?"

"Maybe that's why they sneak out of castles so much," I said, flipping the last pancake.

"Exactly!" She brightened, delighted. "They just wanna wear comfy clothes and go on adventures."

"And eat pancakes."

"Yes!" She pointed at me like I'd cracked a code. "Do you think I'd make a good princess?"

I took a seat in the chair next to hers as I considered her. "You'd make a terrible princess."

Her mouth dropped open in outrage. "Mommy!"

"You hate brushing your hair." I shrugged. "And princesses probably have to brush their hair every day."

She gasped. "Every day?"

"Every single day," I said solemnly. "And they can't wear hello kitty pajamas to breakfast. It's all gowns and tiaras, all the time."

Alina's face scrunched in contemplation. "That sounds like too much work."

"Exactly. You're much better off staying here and being my baby."

She grinned, clearly pleased with this alternative. "Okay, I will if you give me more pancakes"

"Deal."

I picked my phone as we slid into silence. Messages upon messages poured in nonstop from work, only one caught my attention...

Maria: Hi, Dr. Zina. Sorry to bother you this early. I know you just got off some hours ago, but Mr. Russo called in not too long and said he would be coming in for his weekly follow up. Just to remind you.

Maria: That and you have a few consultation sessions. Nothing heavy. Thanks

I set my phone down, not sparing the message another thought. Alina, on the other hand, had finished her pancakes with impressive speed and was now using her fork to dramatically gesture at Sir Reginald Flopsy.

"Sir Reginald thinks I should wear my pink dress today," she announced, eyes full of morning mischief.

I took a sip of my coffee, unimpressed. "Sir Reginald has no say in this household."

Alina gasped, scandalized, clutching the rabbit to her chest like I'd just threatened his life.

If only I had been warned earlier the dramatic gene would be passed on

"Mommy!"

"Sweetheart, it's a school day, not a royal ball. You have uniform for a reason. Wear it."

She huffed but hopped off the stool, making her way to her room with the slow, tragic steps of a child facing great injustice. I let her have her moment.

By the time we were out the door, she'd mostly recovered, switching gears entirely to a long-winded debate on what I couldn't even understand. I let her carry the conversation, adding the occasional hum of acknowledgment as I navigated the morning traffic.

At school drop-off, she leaned forward for a kiss, her tiny hands pressing into my cheeks to hold me still. "Bye, Mommy! Don't let the bad guys get you."

I arched a brow. "What bad guys?"

She considered, then gave a dramatic little shrug. "I dunno. Just be careful."

I tapped her nose. "Go. You're already late."

She scampered off, Sir Reginald bouncing in her grip as she rushed to meet her friends. I waited until she disappeared into the building before pulling away, sliding seamlessly from mother to doctor as I headed for the hospital.

By the time I walked in, the chaos of the morning had settled into its usual rhythm. Maria caught sight of me and gave a quick nod.

"Dr. Zina, Mr. Russo's expected in an hour. Also, Dr. Lewis needs a consult on a post-op case."

"Noted." I glanced at my watch. "Anything else?"

Maria hesitated. "Your husband called the main desk earlier. Wanted to confirm you'd be at the gala with Alina this week."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you were in surgery and unavailable."

"Good answer."

Maria smirked. "Figured as much."