Harry Styles Imagines

47 - Beautiful

Beautiful

*Harry's POV*

                                            Sunshine penetrates through the window on a winter day. The snow sparkles in many different colours. My little daughter, only 6 years old, sits across from me, both of us on the floor, toy blocks between us. She sits there with crossed arms while I pile them up only for her to destroy the tower. It makes me happy to hear her giggle and see her smile. She has the smile from her mother.

 "Daddy?" Her sweet voice tears me out of my thoughts, "My friends say I'm not normal."

 I frown and stop piling the toy blocks up. "Why would they say that, sweetheart?"

 "Because I don't have a Mommy. Everyone has a Mommy but I don't and that is not normal. Why don't I have Mommy?" She rambles and waves with her hand through the air but her eyes look so sad.

 "You have a Mommy. She is just not...here with...us." I tell her carefully, hoping she will understand me.

 "Where is she then? Doesn't she likes us?"

 "Sweetheart, she loved...loves you with all her heart but she is...up there." I tell her and point upward with my finger. Her eyes widen in surprise and excitement.

 "In the attic? Can I go up then and tell her hello? Why did she never come downstairs? I could bring her some of the cupcakes we made today!" Excitement is audible in her voice and she jumps up to run into the kitchen but I catch her before she can escape me. I feel so bad for telling her that all this doesn't work.

 "Baby, she is not in the attic. She is...in...in heaven." I bite my lip and hope she will understand what I just told her. I can't blame her if she doesn't, after all she is only 6 years old. But I can tell from her sad looking eyes that she understood me.

 Tears form in my eyes when I see her tears already rolling down her cheeks. I open my arms and she crawls over to me, hugging me as tight as she can. I press my lips on top of her head, my hand rubs her small back. 

 "She won't come back, right?"

 "No, she won't but she watches over us." I tell her comfortingly and wipe my own tears away. She shouldn't see her father crying, that only makes her more sad and what she needs is a strong ideal to whom she can look up to. Even though I'm the wrong person for that because on the inside I'm weak, breaking every day a bit more. I'm only half of the man I was with Y/N—but I'm the only one our daughter has to look up to.

 I wish I could wipe the pain in my heart just as easy away as my tears.

 "Have you loved her very much?"

 "God yes, I loved her so much and I still do." I whisper in her hair and she nods with a half-hearted smile.

 "Like very, very much?"

 "Yes, sweetheart. She was everything I could have wished for."

 "How was Mommy?"

 I smile when I picture her face, the sound of her laugh, her soft skin. Her voice when she was angry with me, her voice when she was happy. I picture her laying in our bed, wearing a shirt of mine, laughing at one of my lame jokes. I picture her laying in my arms on a rainy Sunday afternoon, whispering in my ear how glad she is that she is mine and that she loves me. I picture her soft skin under my fingertips while we made love, while we did something so intimate only lovers can do, expressing our love to each other.

 "She was beautiful," I tell her and our daughter smiles while her eyes still hold the sad expression, "In every single way."