From Daddy to Uncle

After I discovered that my husband, Leonardo Marchetti, could not let go of his first love, I started teaching our daughter Sofia to call him "Uncle Leonardo."

Sofia sprained her ankle at school. In the middle of the night, Leonardo got a phone call. Valentina was crying on the other end. Her daughter Lily had a nightmare and would not stop screaming for a father. Leonardo left without saying a word. I pressed an ice pack against Sofia's swollen ankle and whispered, "Say 'goodbye, Uncle Leonardo.'"

Leonardo promised to come to Sofia's school sports day. Then Valentina called, sobbing that Lily had no father to run the three legged race with him. Leonardo walked out without a second thought.

I just handed the phone to Sofia and told her to tell her teacher, "Uncle Leonardo says he cannot make it."

Every time, Sofia hesitated. Sofia did not understand why I was making her do this.

Until one day, Leonardo finally realized how much he had failed us. He put down all his mob business for Sofia's piano recital and swore he would not miss it.

Sofia was backstage with the other children. Then Leonardo's phone buzzed. Valentina. I could not hear what she said, but I could guess. Lily was crying. Lily needed him. Lily did not have a father.

Leonardo came back. But before Leonardo could begin his excuse, Sofia's voice came from the stage.

"It is okay, Uncle Leonardo. You go take care of your other kid. Mom staying here to watch me is enough."

Sofia said it into the microphone. Everyone heard. The other parents turned to look at Leonardo. Some of them whispered.

Leonardo froze. I froze.

For twenty eight days, ever since I realized Leonardo's heart was no longer in this family, every time Leonardo abandoned us for Valentina, I had made Sofia call Leonardo "Uncle Leonardo." It was my way of reminding myself and Sofia not to cry over a man who was not worth it.

But Sofia was only seven. That was the age when a girl needed her father most.

Every time I asked Sofia to say it, Sofia would hesitate for a long time before whispering a quiet "Uncle Leonardo."

But today, Sofia said it on her own. Smooth and natural, as if she had rehearsed it a hundred times in her head.

Sofia sat down at the piano. Sofia played. Her little fingers found the right keys. She only messed up once, but she kept going. When she finished, the whole room clapped.

Sofia stood up, bowed, and looked at me. Sofia did not look at Leonardo.

The judges gave out the awards. Third place. Second place. First place.

Sofia won first prize. A small gold trophy with a music note on top.

Sofia ran off the stage and straight into my arms. I lifted Sofia up and hugged her tight. A photographer from the local paper asked to take our picture. Mother and daughter with the trophy.

Sofia held