That evening, my four-year-old daughter came up to me with such a serious look on her face, as if she was about to announce some important news, and said that she was packing her things and leaving home. I was stunned when I realised why she had decided to do this.
It all started when I came home from work. As soon as I entered the yard, I saw a scene that turned my world upside down: my little girl was standing at the door with a pink backpack on her shoulders and a small suitcase on wheels next to her, the same one we took on summer trips. She stood straight and focused, as if she were an adult.
Her eyes were red — she had obviously been crying recently. I was taken aback and immediately sat down in front of her.
‘Sweetheart, what happened?’ I asked gently. ‘Why are you here? And why do you have a suitcase?’
She took a deep breath, as if rehearsing a serious speech.
‘Dad…’ she began in a trembling voice. ‘I’m leaving this house.’
My heart sank.
‘Leaving? Where? Why? Who hurt you?’
She frowned, her lips trembled, and she blurted out dramatically, like a real actress:
‘I can’t live here anymore!’
Alarming thoughts instantly swirled in my head: had something bad happened at nursery? Maybe someone had scared her? Or was she upset about something at home that I hadn’t noticed?
‘Please explain,’ I asked, trying not to show my panic. ‘What happened?’
And then she said something that left me speechless for a second:
‘I can’t live with your wife anymore!’
I froze and blinked several times, trying to figure out what she meant.
‘Are you… talking about Mum?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Yes, her!’ my daughter confirmed indignantly, as if it were obvious. ‘I don’t love her anymore!’
I was completely confused.
‘Wait… why? What did Mum do?’
My daughter threw up her hands and looked at me as if I were the most dense person in the world.
‘She’s a monster! A real monster!’ she declared, almost resentfully. ‘She won’t let me watch cartoons as much as I want, she won’t give me chocolate, and she makes me clean my room! I can’t take it anymore!’
It took a tremendous effort to keep a straight face. The word ‘monster’ sounded so childish and convincing coming from her that I almost laughed out loud.
‘I see…’ I said, pretending to be important. ‘Then tell me, where are you going to live?’
She stood up straight, like a winner on a pedestal, and said confidently:
‘At my grandmother’s!’
And then I couldn’t hold back any longer and laughed. My little ‘emigrant’ stood there with her suitcase, as if she was about to start a new life.
I hugged her, kissed her on the top of her head and said:
“Well, princess… let’s go home. I’ll definitely talk to that “monster”.
She looked up at me with serious eyes:
‘You really will, won’t you, Daddy?’
‘Of course,’ I nodded. ‘But we’ll unpack the suitcase now. Deal?’
My daughter thought for a second, then nodded importantly and rolled the suitcase back into the house, cheerfully telling me on the way how ‘everything is better’ at Grandma’s.
When we entered the hallway, my wife was standing there with a surprised look on her face — she seemed to have heard part of the conversation.
‘What suitcase?’ she asked, not understanding what was going on.
And her daughter calmly replied:
‘Dad said I can go to Grandma’s because you’re a monster.’
My wife looked at me first, then at our daughter, and suddenly burst out laughing.
‘Well, I never,’ she said through her laughter. ‘Who would have thought I’d become a monster!’
I smiled and hugged my wife. It was clear that our daughter just wanted more cartoons, attention, and sweets. We explained to her that rules are necessary not because Mummy is ‘mean,’ but because we love her. We agreed that she could have cartoons and treats, but in moderation, and that cleaning up was still a must.
Then the three of us sat down to drink tea and laughed about this ‘escape.’ And I caught myself thinking that it is moments like these — a little crazy, very warm — that make a family real.
