I see you in the laundry, ironing a crease down the middle of my school trousers so they'll sit just how I like them to. Your t-shirt is red? Definitely collared, with cigarettes and glasses peaking out of its single pocket. Your hands move deftly. I'm in awe.

"I'd have made a good housewife," you call out cheekily.

You would have too.

Instead, you made the best dad.

Love you forever, thinking of you always.

Your baby girl.