MILDEW.
I awoke to the stale and pungent funk of mildew crinkling my nose.
It was a familiar yet unfamiliar smell that struck me with a sense of deja vu.
My eyes adjusted faster to the newfound surroundings than my nose.
They swept over the peeling paint of the walls and the dirty dishes in the sink.
The beginnings of a disorderly and filthy mess.
I have returned.
The thought struck a bolt of a million volts to my mind.
A trainwreck of emotions flooded in, followed by forlorn recollections.
Memories of my past.
Then something grasped the cracks of my heart and the crevices of my brain: an aggravating, nerve-wracking, irritating urge.
Like an itch one cannot scratch, a sneeze that gets stuck.
Like a need to crawl out of one's skin; like having one's bones quiver and tickle.
A hand crept into my pocket, and my thumb fell on the cold metal wheel.
One stick.
One flame.
It would take this mess away.
She deserves better than this.
I pulled away my trembling palms from my face.
My gaze turned to the lone room of the messy, cramped apartment.
"Lumi... Lumi!"
I swung the door open to darkness.
Through the broken lights, I saw the faint outline.
There she was, on the mattress without a frame, frail and pale-faced.
I threw the ragged covers into the corner in one motion and leaned over her.
The little girl did not react.
Her eyes were murky and devoid of a childlike spark.
She craned her neck like a little bird to meet my gaze, eyes piercing nails through my heart.
"D-dad?"
The whisper was more of a whimper, but I cared less.
I endured years of regret and repent to hear her again.
"Dumpling. I'm sorry. So sorry."
I pulled her into a tight hug, a hug so tight I wanted to squeeze her into me, such that she would never leave me again.
She was here.
Here now.
Here again.
I didn't know how, or why, or anything about this second chance.
All I knew was I would forever be there for her from now forth.
*
*
*
I lost all semblance of time during the hug, but I knew it was long.
Lumi squirmed in my arms, so I had to release her.
My heart felt empty without her presence.
I quickly pulled her back and sat her on my lap.
"Did I hurt you, dumpling?"
I kissed her coarse, matted hair whilst asking.
Lumi looked obedient with her head bowed, but shrank when my hands stroked her hair.
"I-I'm sorry, dumpling."
"It's okay," she mumbled.
"Dad won't hurt you."
Like she did.
Lumi twisted her head around to face me.
She held a hand over her chest with a look of wistful confusion.
I watched her thin, chapped lips crack open, as frail as an eggshell.
"It's not bruised and it's not bleeding, but it hurts here."
I was unable to stop my tears.
"I know, baby dumpling. I know. Dad made a grave mistake.
A very big mistake.
Dad let you down.
Dad wasn't there for you in your darkest times, when there was thunder, when there were nightmares.
Dad wasn't there for you in the screaming, in the fighting, in the shouting."
Through the shimmer of my teardrops, I saw Lumi shudder.
I panicked.
"Don't be afraid, dumpling! She is gone. Dad has changed. Dad will always be by your side. Always."
"She is gone?" she whispered.
Her faint breath tickled my chest.
I wrapped my arms tighter across her back.
"She has left for good, dumpling. Things have changed. It's not scary anymore, okay?"
Lumi fell silent, which scared me instead.
I hoped to close the distance with her and set things straight.
I now realized stirring up her traumas was not the way to go.
After she had a moment of heavy breathing, I finally felt some movement.
"I'm not scared," Lumi retorted, wrestling herself out my embrace.
Relief washed over when I found some color returning to her face, then amusement.
The defiant look she wore was in a sharp contrast to her meek tone.
I chuckled and tried to tidy her bangs.
"If you're not scared, then what are you feeling?"
Lumi looked towards the ceiling in ponderance.
Her innocent daze was on heart-wrenching levels of cuteness.
I didn't know how I ever remained so indifferent to her presence in my past life.
I wanted to pull her into another tight embrace, but her seriousness stopped me.
"I don't know," she answered. "I, um, it's like..."
I was far from a psychologist, but I knew it was normal to struggle describing emotions...
… especially for six-year-olds like Lumi.
It was likely even more so because of her surrounding circumstances and particular upbringing.
Such a realization soured my heart more.
I really was an unworthy and ungrateful parent before…
"That's okay, dumpling. You know the feeling, but you can't say it, right?"
"Mhm."
"You'll learn and find the words as you grow older, so tell Dad everything you feel as you go."
… but that would all change.
I vowed not to waste my second chance.
I would raise Lumi into the happiest little girl ever.
I would grant all her wishes true and help her achieve all her dreams.
That was what she deserved; that was what I owed to her as a father.
"I-I want to know what you're feeling as well, Dad."
Lumi's soft, delicate voice tickled my ears.
Though a little taken aback, I thought nothing more of it.
She wanted to grow closer to me, not to mention it was her first request—that was all that mattered.
"What I'm feeling is likely a more complicated version of what you feel, dumpling," I began.
It was not my intention to discredit her emotions; I wanted to establish a connection.
I was glad to see my words so far did not bother her.
"Com-pli-ca-ted," she mumbled.
"Yes, dumpling. Complicated; when something has so many bits and pieces and parts to it, it becomes hard to understand."
Lumi crooked her head.
"I want to learn more about you, Dad. I want to know everything."
Something about the way she enunciated the word everything was profound.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but I attributed it to her lack of a father figure—my absence.
"Are you curious about Dad? Do you have a lot of questions to ask about Dad?"
She nodded.
Although her gaze was pure, a sinking feeling in my stomach turned it accusatory.
Guilt.
I knew it was guilt and regret and shame working its dark magic.
Explaining my poor choices and indifference wouldn't make it up to her—I was clear on that front.
I needed to justify it with proper, practical actions, and not a vindicative life story.
Yet there was something about Lumi's frail and expectant self I couldn't say no to.
"Where do I start?"
Though I didn'twant to, I emptied out my sorrows and woes anyways.
"Dumpling, your dad lost control of his life... high school, car accident, temper, fighting…
Definitely mixed with the wrong crowd. Nicotine... other substances… then unexpected pregnancy."
My hoarse voice shook when I finished.
I had expected Lumi to ignore my rambling.
However, she stared at me with rapt attention.
"Sorry, dumpling. I must've bored you. Dad talked and talked. You must've not understood much."
I reached over to stroke her hair, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm.
"No, Dad. I understood everything."