Hectic days followed. As precious as his little daughter was, Carlo hadn’t expected raising an infant would be this difficult. He didn’t want to leave it all for the maids to do, so even as he worked, he also gave all of himself to nurturing his baby. Every moment of respite from his craft was a moment to think of Teresa and his anxieties for the future; he could not find it in him to rest even at Sofia’s urging. However, workload-heavy days and a habitual lack of sleep had his head spinning and, one day, brought his knees to the ground.
He tried to disguise his fall as a loss of balance when Sofia rushed to his side, but she clutched him by the collar. “Mr. Carlo! If anything happens to you, who will be here to protect your child?!”
Her words struck him where it hurt. All the pain he had managed to bottle up inside of him came dripping onto the floor. “I’ve already failed, Sofia—I’ve failed to protect Teresa.” Carlo had traversed the gap in age and status between himself and Teresa, yet her sickness had taken away her memories and her love for him. Though she was alive, the woman he once knew was no more. How could he protect her? Was there even a way to do so? Moreover, how could he, all by his lonesome, protect his daughter from now on? Carlo did not have the slightest faith in himself to bring Dahlia joy, but he did have worry in abundance.
To the man collapsed in a puddle of his own tears, Sofia proclaimed, “All you have to do is to love Dahlia twice as much and protect her, Mr. Carlo!” She made it sound so simple, but there was a confident smile on her face. “My husband died shortly after I gave birth to my youngest child, but I took that love for him and loved both my children doubly so.”
“I suppose I have lots to learn from you, Sofia.”
“You sure do. Now, Mr. Carlo, this is no time to be lamenting. It takes a whole village to raise a child, so throw away whatever pride you have and lean on everyone to help you—if someone needs help, help them.” She always seemed so generous and kind, yet there was something shadowy to her smirk. “Help them so that they then owe you.”
“Like a debt?”
“Precisely. Bank up those debts so that if something goes terribly wrong, no one can possibly refuse you when you go collect them.”
That reminded him of the mountain of requests she had made to Earl Lamberti, but he kept his curiosity to himself. “That is a very good point, ma’am. I hope you will impart to me many more lessons.” Thanks to her words, Carlo finally managed to stand up and smile.
He bore no hate nor grudge against anyone—there was no time for that. He would love Dahlia and use the love he bore for Teresa to love their child twofold. Until Dahlia was independent—no, for as long as he lived, he would defend her however he possibly could. And he would take Sofia’s lesson to heart and endeavor to create these debts—such were the three vows he made to himself.
Carlo continued to work as a magical toolmaker and raise his daughter, but he also began talking to others about and asking for help with the things he needed. At the same time, he also began reaching out to help his friends to the best of his capabilities. The most important lesson he’d learned was that he was not the only one who had anxieties and struggles in this thing called life.
Despite his insecurities, Carlo continued to care for his darling daughter, who had her mother’s red hair and her father’s green eyes. When she began to crawl, she inevitably found herself in danger. When she began to toddle, she inevitably fell onto her bottom and cried. Learning to walk only brought more danger upon herself, and he ran for her whenever she had a little tumble. Sofia scolded him for being overprotective, and Dahlia then refused his help, saying, “Father, you’re going to get yelled at!” Of course, whenever he saw the tears that pooled in her green eyes, his chest would ache as if to punish him for failing to protect his daughter. So, instead of helping her physically, he nagged her to be more careful. Thanks to that, “I’m fine!” became something of a pet phrase for Dahlia, though he was never fully able to believe her I’m-fines.
When she caught colds, he would stay up all night to be by her side before falling asleep. When she was in primary school and fell on her face during a race, she said she’d received treatment at school, but a faint scar marked her forehead, and he carried her to the temple. When she seemed off during college, he turned to his friend who worked as an instructor for all the details. When she became Professor Lina’s assistant after graduation, he checked in with her employer to make sure there weren’t creeps trying to get too close to her. When black slime dissolved her arms, Carlo, in tears, wrapped a sheet around her and carried her to the temple.
Dahlia had big dreams, and he ensured she studied hard so that life would be easier for her as an adult. She wished to pursue magical toolmaking like her father, and she wished to become good enough at it to make a living working anywhere. She wished to make magical tools for the common people, and he wished she would never stray from that path. He wished she would never have to witness ill-boding eyes that sought out magical tools to be weaponized, nor witness her own arms covered in blood, nor the unspeakable horrors that hid behind the nobility. He wished for her to have wrinkles from smiling all too much—as a father and her master, he would do anything he could to achieve that for her. Even now, Carlo lived to protect his daughter.
“The soup is also so incredibly yummy. I don’t think I can ever forget how good it is.” Across the table from him was Dahlia enjoying her food, her smile somewhat reminiscent of Teresa’s. But ever since Dahlia was a child, she had always claimed that she looked like her father. She was like both of them, yet like neither of them—Dahlia was Dahlia. She was his irreplaceable daughter, and she was his magical toolmaking protégée to whom he passed down his techniques and knowledge.
I pray, with all earnestness, that you will lead a joyous life, beloved daughter of mine. Even if I were to lose my memories of this life, I’m sure I would be able to recall everything that has happened when I cross over to the other side. Wherever that is, I’ll boast to my wife Teresa all about our daughter Dahlia—how wonderfully she has grown, what fun we have had, and every minute detail of our time together. I know I’ll be able to tell my wife that even though she was gone, I was able to love my daughter twice as much in her stead.
Carlo trusted the steam from his bowl of soup to fog up glasses and hide his tear-filled and downturned eyes. “Yeah, me either—I’ll never forget.”