I’m a single dad to two little girls — Emma, five, and Lily, four.
Their mom left a year ago to “find herself,” and I’ve been doing my best to keep our little world standing ever since.
Most days, I wake up before dawn, pack lunches, make breakfast, drop them at daycare, and rush to work.
By the time I get home, it’s dinner, laundry, bedtime stories, and maybe five quiet minutes before I pass out on the couch.
It’s exhausting… but when they wrap their little arms around me and whisper “Love you, Daddy,” it feels worth it.
A few days ago, something strange happened.
I woke up at my usual time — 6:00 a.m. sharp — and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. But when I turned the corner, I froze.
On the table sat three plates of pancakes, perfectly golden, stacked with jam and fruit.
For a second, I honestly thought I was still dreaming.
“Hello?” I called out, peeking down the hallway.
Silence.
I checked the doors — locked. The windows — still closed.
I even called my sister to ask if she’d come by early. She laughed.
“No, Mark. Why would I break in just to make you breakfast?”
That evening, when I got home from work, I noticed something else.
The grass — which had grown embarrassingly high — had been freshly mowed.
I stared at the yard for a long time, trying to figure it out.
Someone was helping me. Quietly. Lovingly. But who?
The next morning, I decided I was going to find out.
I woke up extra early — 5:15 this time — and tiptoed to the kitchen, hiding just around the corner.
For a few minutes, all I could hear was the faint sound of little feet padding across the tile.
Then came the clatter of a stool being dragged, and a whisper:
“Careful, Lily! Daddy might wake up!”
My heart stopped.
Peeking around the corner, I saw them — my two little girls, hair messy, still in their pajamas. Emma was standing on a stool, holding the spatula, while Lily carefully scooped jam onto pancakes that were slightly burnt on one side.
They were giggling, trying their best to be quiet.
When Emma dropped a strawberry on the floor, she gasped and whispered,
“Shh! Daddy will hear!”
I couldn’t help but smile.
I stepped out from behind the wall, and they both froze.
“Uh-oh,” Lily whispered.
I knelt down, eyes stinging. “So you two are my secret angels, huh?”
Emma bit her lip. “We wanted to help, Daddy. You always make us breakfast. We wanted to make you happy today.”
I pulled them both into my arms, pancakes and all. “You already make me happy,” I whispered. “Every single day.”
The pancakes that morning were a little burnt, the fruit a little uneven — but I swear it was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.
And now, every once in a while, I wake up to find small surprises — a drawing on my pillow, flowers from the yard in a cup of water, or two tiny notes that say, “We love you, Daddy.”
Turns out, angels don’t always have wings.
Sometimes, they wear pajamas and smell like syrup. ❤️
