Not having a dad never mattered. It never bothered me.
I didn't feel like I needed someone to call "dad"—not until the day of my middle school graduation.
My name is Ixora. It's just me and my mom. Life's been good, you know? I never really thought too deeply about the things I lacked.
That day, my graduation day, I wore a burgundy and milk-patterned gown, matched it with ribboned shoes, and kept admiring myself in the mirror. I looked good. I felt good. I was going to be a high schooler soon, and I loved the way my body was changing—becoming fuller, more beautiful.
Mama looked elegant too. We stood side by side and headed to Olive Academy, my school. As we walked into the hall, people stared. Not in a bad way—we were a sight.
My mom, Mrs. Orlah, was a staff member at the school. She left me with my classmates to help with the event preparations.Everything was going smoothly—until it was time for the highlight of the evening: the candle-lighting ritual. At Olive Academy, it's a long-standing tradition. Graduating students go up to the stage with their parents to light a candle and pray. It's considered the heart of the ceremony.
I looked around, searching for Mama.
One by one, my classmates stepped up with both parents. Some had just their dads, others just their moms—but all of them had someone.
That was when it hit me.
I had only my mom. No dad to stand with me. No extra hand to hold. No fatherly presence to make me feel complete.
I watched helplessly as my classmates basked in the warmth of their families. I felt… hollow. I wished a genie could grant me a dad—just for that moment.
My chest tightened. My heart sank. I couldn't bear it anymore. I quietly slipped away and locked myself in the bathroom.
I cried.Four whole hours passed.
When I finally stepped out, I saw my frantic homeroom teacher, Mrs. Anthony, searching. When our eyes met, I saw relief flood hers.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
Apparently, the graduation ceremony was long over. I had missed everything—even receiving my certificate.
Mama was worried sick. She scolded me for being careless and disappearing on such an important day.
"Why would you lock yourself in the restroom on your own graduation day?" she demanded.
I looked up to answer her. But the truth in my heart would hurt her—and she didn't deserve that.
She explained, apologetically, that she had gone to get pastries for the event and couldn't make it back in time for the ritual.
"I asked Mrs. Anthony to stand in for me," she said softly, "but she called to say you were nowhere to be found."
I nodded. I wanted to say, It's okay. But I couldn't even find the strength.
The walk home was quiet.
Very un-me.
Granny always called me a "chattering parrot," but that night, I was silent.
I wasn't angry with Mama anymore. Watching how hard she worked just to give me a good life, I realized she didn't deserve to feel worse than she already did.
But still, I saw it in her eyes.
The guilt.
She felt like she had disappointed me.