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Father’s Day was just around the corner, and truthfully, it felt strangely difficult to think of what to get Leon.
As a new dad, this was his first Father’s Day, and you wanted to surprise your husband with something special. Not just special, meaningful. Something he would remember years from now when Hope was older and this phase of sleepless nights, bottles, and tiny socks became something distant and nostalgic.
You wanted to give him the kind of gift he’d quietly think about months later and smile.
But what do you even get dads for Father’s Day?
They always made fathers seem so simple in movies and commercials.
Buy them lunch. Get them a new polo shirt. Maybe a mug with “World’s Best Dad” slapped onto it. Fathers were always portrayed as these nonchalant creatures—people who shrugged at gifts and said things like, “You didn’t have to do that,” while secretly caring more than they let on.
And honestly… that worked for most dads.
But Leon wasn’t most dads.
Leon loved being a father.
Not in the quiet, reserved way people expected fathers to be. No—Leon embraced it completely and made absolutely no effort to hide it.
He talked to Hope like she understood every word. He volunteered for diaper duty. He’d wake up in the middle of the night and walk circles around the apartment with her against his chest while whispering nonsense stories until she fell asleep. He celebrated every tiny thing she did.
The first time she laughed.
The first time she grabbed his finger.
The first time she reached for him over you, to which he still brought up every chance he got.
There was so much love in the way Leon took care of his daughter.
Not loud love.
Not grand gestures.
Just this constant, steady kind of love that existed in everything he did. Anyone looking from the outside could see it immediately.
And Hope loved him just as much.
You knew your daughter had a little extra softness for Leon.
Whenever Leon came home exhausted, she’d somehow become calmer. Whenever he looked worn out, she’d cling to him more. It was like she knew her father needed a little more love around the edges.
Like she could sense the things he carried.
The weight.
The exhaustion.
The parts of himself he never talked about.
And even if she couldn’t understand those things yet—
she still wanted to make them lighter.
Even if her version of helping was drooling on his shirt and grabbing his nose.
Hope knew Leon.
Maybe not through words.
But in the instinctive way babies know the people who love them.
And that was exactly why you wanted to give him something more.
You paced around your flower shop with Hope balanced against your hip while trying to think.
The same flower shop Leon had gifted you after you admitted you couldn’t see yourself returning to medicine anymore.
This little shop became home.
At the same time, while standing in this exact place months into your pregnancy, Leon had looked around at all the blooms and softly said—
“Hope.”
That was it.
That was your daughter’s name.
He named her in this flower shop. Because he said that was what she felt like.
This wasn’t fair. Leon made gift-giving look so easy. Mother’s Day had come and somehow he had turned it into Mother’s Week.
Yes, plural.
How was he this good at sentimental things?
How come it suddenly felt impossible to come up with something for Father’s Day?
Brunch was already on the list. That part was easy. You just didn’t know what to get him.
“What gift should we get Daddy for Father’s Day, sweetie?”
You looked down at your eight-month-old daughter who was currently more interested in aggressively playing with your hair.
She looked up at you with sparkly blue eyes and immediately started babbling excitedly at the mention of her father.
Your genetics genuinely never stood a chance. She was basically a tiny Leon from head to toe.
“What about a tie?”
Hope immediately shook her head. You weren’t entirely convinced she understood the question, but at least she was participating.
“Yeah… bad idea. Daddy doesn’t even like suits.”
“How about a watch?”
She shook her head harder this time. You sighed dramatically at her answer.
“True. He already has a lot of those and Mommy definitely cannot afford the kind Daddy likes.”
Hope nodded at the part where you couldn’t afford it.
Rude.
You stared at her and she stared back.
“What should we get him then?”
Hope looked at you for a moment, like she was brainstorming. Then slowly she turned her head and looked around the shop. Her eyes landed somewhere behind you and then she started making grabby hands. You followed.
Alstroemerias.
You looked back at her.
“…Flowers?”
She brightened immediately.
“You wanna give Daddy flowers?”
She smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
It wasn’t common to give fathers flowers. People gave fathers practical things. Useful things.
But then—
Hope knew Leon.
And Leon had always given flowers meaning. He gave you flowers when words failed. Built this place from flowers. Named your daughter because of flowers.
Maybe flowers weren’t strange at all.
Maybe they were the most Leon gift possible.
You smiled.
“Okay.”
You kissed the top of Hope’s head.
“Flowers it is.”
Right on cue, Shrimp appeared with a flower hanging awkwardly from his mouth.
The cat would never admit it, but he loved Leon. Despite all the hissing or intentionally knocking Leon’s things over and acting offended every time Leon carried him.
Shrimp loved him.
Though apparently only enough to contribute one flower. He was too prideful to make it obvious.
You took the flower from his mouth. He immediately walked away and returned to his usual spot by the window as if none of this had happened.
You laughed quietly at his pride then looked down at your daughter.
Hope pointed excitedly at different flowers around the shop, completely serious about her selections. You watched her choose flowers for her father—
you realized maybe the reason this gift felt so hard wasn’t because you didn’t know Leon.
It was because Leon always gave so much love that somehow nothing ever felt enough to give back.
But maybe that wasn’t the point.
Maybe Father’s Day didn’t need something grand.
Maybe all Leon wanted—
was this.
His daughter choosing flowers.
His wife thinking about him.
His cat contributing.
It was proof that the love he gave every day had quietly bloomed back into something beautiful.
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The three of you eventually made your way back to the apartment as evening settled in.
The warm orange light coming through the windows made everything feel softer somehow.
Hope was on the carpet in the living room, fully occupied with harassing Shrimp. To be fair, Shrimp was participating. Your daughter would wave one of her plush toys at him and Shrimp would lazily bat at it before dramatically flopping onto his side like he’d suffered a devastating defeat.
You stood in the kitchen staring at the ingredients on the counter like they had personally wronged you.
Right… dinner.
Truthfully, you weren’t the best cook. Actually you weren’t even in the running. Leon was the one who was good at cooking. He cooked efficiently, cleaned as he went, somehow knew measurements without checking, and could open the fridge and create meals out of ingredients that looked completely unrelated.
Meanwhile…
you once burned soup.
Which still felt scientifically impossible.
But Leon’s work kept him from coming home early enough most days to make dinner. Which meant everyone was usually stuck with your cooking.
You had gotten better.
Marginally.
You no longer held knives like scalpels. No longer referred to cutting vegetables as “making incisions.” You had learned that food apparently wasn’t supposed to smell like sterilization.
You reached for the ingredients with the same dread people probably felt before entering a final exam. As you were just about to start prepping when you heard movement by the front door.
The lock clicked and the door opened.
And like some divine intervention sent specifically to save your family from culinary disaster, your husband walked in.
“I’m home.”
Hope immediately let out the loudest excited squeal known to mankind. Her entire body launched forward in an attempt to crawl at dangerous speeds toward her father.
Leon reacted instantly before she could faceplant into the floor and collect her daily near-death experience, he scooped her up effortlessly.
“Whoa there.”
Hope giggled.
“Hi, Hope.”
Leon kissed her nose, then one cheek, then the other, then her forehead, then somehow continued until she dissolved into uncontrollable baby laughter.
Hope retaliated by grabbing his face and aggressively kissing him back. Which mostly involved opening her mouth and drooling directly onto his skin.
Leon accepted this with concerning enthusiasm.
You watched as the two of them walked toward the kitchen together.
And for a moment, you found yourself staring.
There was always something so unfairly endearing about the way Leon carried Hope.
Maybe it was because people always expected someone built like him to seem intimidating. Broad shoulders, rough hands, and a face that naturally looked serious.
But then he’d hold your daughter and suddenly he became softer.
He was careful, like he was carrying something fragile and precious, like nothing in the world mattered more. His whole face changed around her, it looked like becoming her father unlocked some version of him nobody else got to see.
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m home.”
He reached you, leaning down and kissed you.
At the same time he was casually covering Hope’s eyes with one hand.
You pulled back and immediately grimaced.
“Ugh. Ew. You’re covered in drool.” You grabbed a paper towel from the counter and started wiping his face.
“Don’t be rude.” He adjusted Hope in his arms.
“These are complimentary kisses from Hope.” He kissed the top of her head and your daughter babbled proudly.
You rolled your eyes.
In Leon’s eyes, Hope could genuinely never do anything wrong. She could probably commit tax fraud and he’d explain she was just expressing herself.
Well, better Hope drool than Licker drool.
You glanced at the untouched ingredients.
“Can you make dinner? Or are you too tired?” You looked at him apologetically. “You know my cooking sucks, so…”
Leon looked at you immediately and his expression softened.
“I don’t think your cooking sucks.”
Hope grabbed his finger and immediately started chewing on it.
“You’re the only one who thinks that.” He continued casually.
Excuse me?
Throughout your relationship, Leon had never been the type to lie just to make you feel good. If you messed up he told you. Kindly but directly.
He knew there were a lot of things you didn’t know how to do outside medicine. Simple household things had been completely foreign to you.
You didn’t know how washing machines worked. You didn’t know how to vacuum. You crumpled clothes because you didn’t know how to fold them. You ironed things like you were conducting experiments.
Cooking had been even worse.
Leon still remembered watching you confidently announce that you knew how to cook, only to immediately start holding a knife like a surgical instrument.
You had made precise incisions into a carrot.
Perfect cuts.
Terrible cooking.
Then you’d stared at the stove.
“…How do I turn this on?”
He laughed for ten straight minutes but he never made you feel stupid. He taught you. Not because he expected you to do those things for him, but because he wanted you to know you could.
So hearing him say that now, you knew he meant it.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.
“You just want an excuse to spend time with Hope, don’t you?”
Leon looked at his daughter then looked back at you with no shame or whatsoever.
“Maybe.”
Then he pouted.
“Please?”
This man negotiated with government officials and this was his strategy at home.
“Fine.” You pointed at him. “But don’t complain while you’re on the toilet later.”
You turned to grab ingredients but he caught your wrist gently. Before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you again.
The kind that said thank you more than words.
“I’ll clean up the dishes.” He winked.
You snorted. “Well, aren’t you romantic?”
His mouth twitched.
“She’s awake alright.”
Your eyes softened immediately.
Right, Hope was awake.
Because most days he came home after she was already asleep. Most days he only got a few sleepy smiles in the morning before work. He missed things. Tiny things. And he hated missing them.
You watched him adjust Hope higher in his arms. His forehead rested briefly against hers.
“She won’t be eight months forever. I’m sacrificing my daughter’s limited awake time for your cooking.”
You gasped while Hope squealed. Leon immediately escaped to the living room before you could retaliate. You watched him settle down onto the carpet with Hope.
No phone.
No TV.
No distractions.
Just him and her.
Hope immediately crawled into his lap and started babbling aggressively like she had an entire report to deliver.
Leon nodded seriously.
“No way.” He lifted her up every time she squealed.
You started preparing dinner while listening to their conversation from the kitchen. And for a while, you just watched Leon smiling.
Suddenly the flowers made sense. Because maybe Father’s Day wasn’t about giving him something expensive. Maybe it was giving him proof.
Proof that after all the things life had asked him to carry, he had built something soft. Something that bloomed amidst all of it.
And right now, covered in baby drool while holding his daughter—he looked exactly where he was supposed to be.
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“You know, you don’t need to plan anything for me for Father’s Day tomorrow,” Leon said softly as he carefully tucked Hope between the two of you.
It had become a routine now—when Hope saw him before bedtime, she made it very clear that sleep in her bassinet was impossible. So instead, she ended up wedged comfortably between both of you, like she had claimed the entire bed as her rightful territory.
Warm, small, and stubbornly awake for someone who was supposed to be asleep.
You glanced at him, pausing mid-movement.
“How did you—”
“It’s written all over your face,” he interrupted gently, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead, then another to Hope’s tiny curls before settling back down.
You exhaled through your nose.
“Well, sorry for wanting to give my husband something on Father’s Day, which you are, by the way, absolutely qualified for celebrating.”
You leaned in and kissed him properly this time, slow enough to make your point but soft enough not to disturb the baby sandwiched between you.
Leon hummed against your lips before pulling back slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“That’s not what I’m implying,” he said. “I’m saying don’t think too hard about it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“I wish I had your same thought process during Mother’s Day.”
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Oh, you do not want that.”
Hope stirred faintly between you, making a small noise before instinctively snuggling closer into your side. Even half-asleep, she seemed to know where she felt safest. She may have been completely infatuated with Leon during her waking hours—her eyes lighting up the moment he walked into a room—but in these quiet, in-between moments, she always melted into you without hesitation.
Like she understood, without needing words, that you were her calm.
Her grounding.
Leon noticed too.His gaze softened as he watched her settle again, one tiny fist loosely gripping the fabric of your shirt.
“I already have the best Father’s Day gift,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice softer now, almost drowsy. “I couldn’t ask for more.”
There was no teasing in his tone this time. No smirk. No deflection.
Just him and his honesty.
You reached up and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead, your fingers lingering there a little longer than necessary. His eyes were already starting to droop, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him now that everything was quiet.
“You still get brunch tomorrow,” you said, almost like a warning.
A small, tired smile tugged at his lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The room settled after that.
No more talking.
Just the soft rhythm of breathing.
Hope, warm and safe between the two of you, slowly drifting deeper into sleep.
Leon’s hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing together loosely as his eyes finally closed.
And for a moment, everything felt still in the best possible way—like the world had narrowed down to this bed, this family, this quiet kind of love that didn’t need to be announced to be understood.
Before you knew it, morning came around. Not because of sunlight filtering through the curtains or because your alarm went off, but because of your undeniably loud alarm clock—your daughter.
Hope was sprawled across Leon’s chest, sitting there with all the confidence of someone who paid rent, squealing directly into his face like waking him up was her greatest mission in life. Somewhere along the way she had evolved from crying for attention into becoming a full-time personal alarm system.
And for some reason, she seemed extra excited today.
Her usual mornings with Leon already bordered on excessive enthusiasm, but today she looked downright ecstatic. It was like she somehow knew. Like she understood today was Father’s Day.
Leon groaned quietly in his sleep and turned his face away. Hope responded by squealing louder. One tiny hand landed directly on his cheek. He opened one eye and immediately, she lit up. Her entire face brightened the second she realized he was awake.
Leon stared at her for a moment before letting out a sleepy laugh.
“You seem excited.”
Hope babbled loudly in response and started opening and closing her hand repeatedly.
Leon blinked at her and smiled lazily.
“Hm? What’s that supposed to mean, sweetie?”
You slowly let yourself wake up and turned toward them. Your eyes adjusted to the sight in front of you—Leon with messy morning hair and pillow lines still pressed faintly against his skin, Hope sitting triumphantly on his chest, and warm morning sunlight spilling softly across the room.
You smiled.
“It means she has flowers for you.”
Leon turned to look at you while you pushed yourself up and leaned over to kiss him.
“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”
His expression softened immediately.
“Thank you, my love.”
Then he looked back down at Hope.
“So flowers, huh? That’s unusual. I was betting on a tie.” His eyebrow lifted. You immediately smacked his chest while he laughed.
“Funny, Kennedy. It was Hope’s idea.”
Leon looked down at his daughter. She was still opening and closing her hand expectantly like she had personally arranged the bouquet and was waiting for praise. His expression softened even more. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“You’re such a sweet girl.”
You smiled and added casually, “And if it makes it any better, Shrimp contributed one flower too.”
Leon immediately perked up.
“Really?!”
You nodded.
“Only one?” He looked offended. “Meanwhile I buy him a sack of cat food every week. That cat is way too damn greedy.”
You laughed.
“Hey, at least he pitched in.”
Leon looked unconvinced. Hope chose that exact moment to launch herself forward. Before Leon could react, she started covering his face in kisses. Open-mouth baby kisses accompanied by an unreasonable amount of drool.
Leon accepted every single one.
“Oh, you’re spoiling me a lot today.”
Then Hope stopped. She looked at him then reached up and placed both tiny hands against his cheeks.
And softly—
“Da…”
Everything stopped.
“…da.”
The room became impossibly still. You froze. Leon froze. Even Shrimp, asleep at the foot of the bed, lazily opened his eye.
“…Did she just—”
Your heart started pounding. Because if your hearing was right, Hope had just said—
Dada.
Her first word.
Leon stared at her completely still. Like moving would somehow scare the moment away. His eyes slowly moved back to Hope.
“Sweetie…”
He swallowed.
“Can you say Dada again?”
Hope blinked and looked at him then immediately started squealing and bouncing excitedly like she hadn’t just changed everything. No repeat. No explanation. Just baby behavior.
You looked back at Leon. Your chest tightened immediately. He looked like he was about to cry. His eyes looked glassy. His smile looked disbelieving as he was trying to process what had just happened.
Like after everything all the years. Everything he had seen. Everything he had survived. His daughter’s first word was him.
And strangely, you didn’t feel sad. Not even a little. You should’ve wanted Mama first. Maybe some people would. But all you could think was—
of course it was Dada.
Of course.
She looked for him every morning. Waited by the door and reached for him. She lit up whenever he came home. Of course the first word she learned was for the person she loved so openly.
Your eyes softened. You reached over and gently touched Leon’s arm and smiled.
“Well…”
You laughed quietly through the emotion gathering in your throat.
“It looks like the ‘World’s Best Dad Jokes’ mug I got you won’t be taking the number one spot for your Father’s Day gift.”
Leon looked at you and Hope then suddenly pulled both of you into him.
Hope squealed.
You laughed as he buried his face against the two of you and held you there for a long moment.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still glassy. Still Completely overwhelmed. He pressed a kiss to Hope’s forehead Then one to yours.
“I think I already got the best Father’s Day gift.”
Sitting proudly on his chest. Still unaware she had just permanently changed her father. His thumb brushed her tiny cheek.
His eyes lifted to meet yours.
“You two.”
He laughed quietly and shook his head.
“I don’t think anything’s ever topping this.”
And somehow, you knew that years from now—when Hope grew older and inevitably forgot this morning—Leon never would.
She wouldn’t remember the sunlight spilling across the bed, or how she had sat proudly on his chest like she owned the place. She wouldn’t remember her tiny hands cupping his face, or the flowers waiting in the living room, or the exact moment she unknowingly gave her father something he would carry for the rest of his life.
But Leon would.
He would remember every second.
The sleepy warmth of the morning. The drool-covered kisses. The disbelief in his chest when he realized her first word was him.
And maybe that was the funny thing about flowers.
They don’t stay.
No matter how carefully you arrange them or how much you want them to remain exactly as they are, they bloom, they change, and eventually they grow into something new.
You had spent days thinking flowers would be his Father’s Day gift.
But looking at him now—
looking at the way he held Hope—
you realized you had gotten it wrong.
The flowers were never the gift. They were just the reminder. A reminder that love looked a lot like gardening.
You plant it quietly. You care for it every day. You give pieces of yourself to it without expecting anything back. And one morning, when you least expect it—
you realize something beautiful has bloomed.
Hope was never the flower.
She was the bloom.
And her tiny voice saying Dada for the first time was simply the first time Leon got to see it.
And somehow you thought, maybe that made flowers the perfect Father’s Day gift after all.