Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

The air this morning is cool with a slight breeze in it, ideal for an early morning. It is the end of May, transitioning into June and the weather has managed to stay with a pleasant springtime feel to it. It's never too hot but it balances nicely as it's never too cold either. It's the perfect balance between humid and breezy and as long as it stays like this, I'll spend every morning before coffee sitting out here on the front porch. Still wearing my comfortable pajamas, I push open screen door and step out onto the faded light blue painted wood of my porch. The floorboards creak when I put my weight on them, a stout reminder that my next project is to replace these old things. I take my usual seat on the white wooden swing hanging from the ceiling on my porch and stare out onto the road as I always do, every morning before I go back inside and grab the pot of coffee I put on before I come out here. I try to make this a routine of mine, to come sit out here for at least half an hour before I start my daily responsibilities. The only time I'm not able to keep up with this is when I have to work the morning shift, which is only throughout the week.

The houses that line the street that I live on all have similar appearances, the true definition of typical suburbs. Each house sits proudly at two stories tall, painted with colors that vary between light blue, gray and tan. It's a pretty quiet neighborhood that I live in but if all is silent, I can hear the bustling of Pensacola, the big city that's only about a two mile drive from here. As I'm sitting on my porch , a soft breeze blows and carries the scent of saltwater and crisp morning air off the ocean that is less than a mile from where we live. For as long as I've been living in Florida, I still have yet to grow tired of smelling the saltwater that the morning breezes carry over. There's really nothing like fresh air, especially in the morning after just waking up. My wife always used to say that no air is like the fresh air we get while sitting on our front porch and I have to agree. One of the reasons why I love our front porch is because it is the only porch on the block that gets the brunt of the wind.

My house is the only house on the block that is slightly different from every other house, by the way. It's like a typical beach house—made of white painted wood with glass windows and sliding glass doors, complete with light blue shutters. What makes my house different is the fenced in yard and the fact that I have yet to switch out the rundown wooden door for the same glass front door that every other house has. When we first bought this house six years ago, the paint was chipping off the wood, the shutters were hanging off and since the foundation is wooden, the porch was caving in. It was a real fixer-upper but that's why my wife wanted it. She said it had a homely feel to it and I didn't believe it then but I believe it now. The house looks just as good as any other house on the block now. One of her favorite parts about the house was that the front door is wooden as opposed to glass and for that reason, I just can't bring myself to take it out. She liked the door...of all things for her to like about the house, she liked the door. Simple things like doors made her happy.

Mrs. Jensen silently creeps by early this morning, dragging her dog behind her by a red leash. Once I see Mrs. Jensen, I know that it's a typical Sunday morning here in Millerton. I can recall the only time I ever went without seeing Mrs. Jensen walking her dog on a Sunday morning. It was three years ago, on the morning that Mr. Jensen had his stroke. Ever since I moved into this house six years ago, I can recall every single Sunday—except that Sunday—that Mrs. Jensen walked by the house dragging her old dog, Gibby. Millerton is such a sleepy town and since nothing ever happens around here, Mr. Jensen's stroke was the topic of discussion for a week. Pretty sad when an old man's stroke is the only source of news in a town but like I said, Millterton is the epitome of boring. I used to complain to my wife about how we lived in such an old, boring town and she always retorted that Millerton "isn't boring, just simply peaceful". This is exactly the kind of town she always wanted to live in though, which is probably why it never bothered her much that all our neighbors are past retirement age.

The only person in this neighborhood that has a job is me. Not because everyone I live next to are a bunch of bums, it's just that literally, every single one of my neighbors have retired. The most they ever do is walk their dogs like Mrs. Jensen, tend to their gardens like Mrs. Fisher and fix up the exterior of their house like Mr. Watkins. The best part about living by elderly people is that I get to share in everything they do. For example, Mrs. Jensen has a thing for baking so I usually get elaborate Christmas cookie platters, red velvet cakes and banana cream pie since she knows it's my favorite. Mrs. Fisher always brings me a bag of tomatoes and cucumbers from her garden and when Mr. Watkins sees that my fence needs fixed, he steps in and does it free of charge. The worst part about living by elderly people however, is the fact that they love to gossip. Nothing much ever happens in Millerton so every time something actually does happen, no matter how small it is, my neighbors take pride in coming over to tell me how Jill from across town kicked her husband Jim out last week or how they think the new neighbors that moved in all the way down the street are trafficking drugs.

That's the bad part about living in a place like Millerton. The town is so small that everybody knows everybody's business. Everybody knew when Jill kicked her husband out, that Mrs. Jensen's husband suffered a stroke and that Mrs. Fisher's son was sent to rehab last month. Everybody knew what happened to me six months ago too and although I didn't want to dwell on it, it was nearly impossible to send people that showed up at my doorstep away. Truth is, I'm still dealing with it. I'm dealing with it in my own way, though and the best way for me to deal with it is to not talk about it. I just don't see the point in talking about it with people when I already spend every waking moment just thinking about it.

Mrs. Jensen's dog sniffs at a fire hydrant, kicks his leg up and goes about his business. She fashions an old, tired wave my way and politely, I wave back. I turn my attention to the filthy red jeep parked in my driveway. It's already nice outside and it's supposed to stay nice according to the weather forecast. Maybe after breakfast, I'll stand out in the driveway and wash the jeep. I've been putting off washing it for the last week just to see if it would rain but it doesn't seem like it's going to rain anytime soon so I should probably just wash it myself. That might be a fun little activity to do today. I'm always looking for ways to entertain her without sending her down to play with Mrs. Jensen's dog. Maybe she'll enjoy washing the car with me. As shamed as I am to say it, half of the time I don't know what to do with her. It's been six months and you would think that I would've adjusted by now but I haven't. I'm still relatively clueless at how to do this by myself.

"Dada?" I turn my head and look at the door. Speaking of her, she's standing in front of the door wearing a stained white t-shirt and a diaper. Her diaper is sagging which indicates that it's more than full. Her hands are against the screen and she's looking directly at me. Without a word, I stand up from the swing and walk over to the door. I still curse the day she learned how to scoot down the steps on her butt without getting scared. She used to be too afraid to go down steps so she'd stand at the top and scream for me to come get her, but ever since she learned that scooting down the steps is the way to go, she'll come seek me out no matter where in the house I am. There have been a few times where she's come into the bathroom with me, actually. I put my hand on the handle to open the door and she steps back.

"Good morning." I cup my hands under her armpits and pick her up. It's nearly impossible for me to ever be in a bad mood with her. Now, I admit that sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with her and that's frustrating, but I'm never in a bad mood with her. "What are you doing up?" I put her on my hip and take her directly upstairs so I can change her diaper. Being that she's three and a half, she's able to start preschool next year when she's four. I don't think I'm going to send her until she's five though. My biggest fear is not having her toilet trained before that. We were in the middle of teaching her how to use the potty before hell broke loose and now I don't know where to pick up with it. She puts her head on my shoulder and hugs me while I carry her back to her bedroom. She also doesn't talk much. The only thing I feel like I've done right in the last six months is take her to a specialist where I work to see if she's autistic or mentally retarded because I do know that three and a half year olds should talk more than she does. She checked out perfectly fine. She's healthy and nothing's wrong with her. The doctors said it's something called "selective mutism", where she just chooses who she wants to talk to and who she doesn't want to talk to.

I lay her down on the bed she just climbed out of and go over to the corner where I keep her pack of pull-ups. I pluck one out of the pack and walk it back over to her. She lies on the bed perfectly still as she waits for me to change her. She's actually pretty smart; she just doesn't talk. She can count to ten, she recognizes animals and their noises and she actually holds full conversations with me when I start them. I peel off her soiled diaper and put it on the floor. I put her feet through the leg holes of the pull-up and stand her up on her bed. She holds onto my shoulders for support and I pull the diaper up on her hips. I'm pretty good with kids. I work with them and I nurse them back to health and I know how to deal with them but for some reason, it's harder to deal with my own. I do know how to make her talk though. Sometimes I force her to, by asking her questions that she can't nod "yes" or shake "no" to. "Do you want pancakes or Fruity Pebbles for breakfast?" I pick her back up and grab her dirty diaper as well, so I can throw it away downstairs. "Pancakes or Fruity Pebbles?"

"Lasagna." She wraps her legs around my hip and she puts her hands on my cheeks.

"Lasagna's not a breakfast food. We can have lasagna for dinner today but not for breakfast. What do you want to eat for breakfast? Do you want me to make you a pancake or do you want a bowl of cereal and milk?" I walk downstairs with her and go straight into the kitchen. Her favorite food is lasagna and french fries. If she had the choice, she would eat lasagna and/or french fries for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For the first two or so months, I let her. I was just happy to get her to eat anything because for about two weeks after it happened, she wouldn't eat anything at all. But when she got her appetite back, she threw tantrums if the food I put in front of her wasn't either lasagna or french fries. So I gave in and let her eat lasagna, french fries and Mountain Dew for a good two months. When I finally got myself together, I realized that she needed to eat three meals a day and healthier food so although she still threw tantrums, I made her eat suitable breakfasts, lunches and dinners. I think we're beginning to understand each other. It was rough there for a little while but we're beginning to settle into a routine and it's starting to become clear that this is our new normal.

I put her down on the counter and she swings her feet. "Cereal." She puts her head down and looks at the floor. That right there is how I know that we're starting to do better with this. A few months ago, this would have been an argument. She would've insisted that I feed her lasagna for breakfast and she would've screamed and cried until I eventually gave in. Now she knows that when I say no to something, I mean it and she doesn't even test it. Both of us are adjusting to this in our own ways. "Dada, maybe we go to...the beach today?" Her voice is quiet, like she's afraid to ask. I grab a plastic bowl from the cabinet and the box of cereal from the top of the fridge. She's been asking me to go to the beach for the past week. I haven't really had time to take her with me working and stuff and plus, I hate the beach.

"Maybe." I dump some cereal into her bowl and splash a little bit of milk over it. I stir it with a spoon to make sure the milk is evenly distributed over the cereal and walk it over to the kitchen table. "Daddy actually has to wash the car today. Do you wanna help? You can hold the hose." I pick her back up again and carry her over to the table. I can tell that she's not too enthusiastic about helping me wash the car and at least I can say I tried. I thought for sure that she would be excited to help me do a big girl chore, like wash the car. I guess not. "I tell you what..." I put her down in the chair and push her bowl of cereal towards her. "If you help me wash the car, we can go to the beach for a couple hours after we're done." I don't really want to go to the beach and sit out in the hot sun but her big green eyes light up when I tell her that we can go to the beach and there's no way I can take that back now. "You gotta help me wash the car though. Deal?"

"Deal." She picks up her spoon and starts feeding herself. I stand with my back against the refrigerator and just watch her while she eats. If I had told her no to going to the beach, she would've helped me wash the car anyway. But she would've spent the rest of the night in her bedroom and I wouldn't have seen her again until dinner. For the last six months, that is basically what our life has been like. I go to work, my dad comes over to sit with her while I'm at work and she's usually asleep by the time I get home. On the weekends, she usually asks to go to the beach. I say no, she retreats to her bedroom and that's the end of that. I don't particularly care for the beach. I used to, but I don't anymore and I guess that's why I always tell her no.

Every summer, we used to go to the beach at least three times a week. We would pack up the beach towels, the shovels and the pails and we would spend hours at the beach just her, me and her mother. We would leave early in the morning and not return until 7:30 at night. And on the way home, Lyla would always pass out in the backseat of the car before we even got home. And my wife would come home and make something simple for dinner for just the two of us while I would wipe the sand off our daughter and put her in bed. I used to love the beach back then. I hate it now. We haven't been to the beach in the last six months so I don't know for sure, but part of me suspects that going to the beach now wouldn't be the same as going to the beach then. I try not to deprive Lyla of anything now that all she has is a dad and I often find myself overcompensating for the fact that she's growing up with just a dad, but the beach just isn't something I'm ready for. But like I said, I try not to deprive her of anything so even though I'm not ready to go to the beach just the two of us, I'll do it just to make her happy.

She quietly spoons another scoop of cereal into her mouth and chews with her head down. Her light brown hair is still pulled back in the lazy ponytail I had put it in before she went to bed last night and although she seems happy, I can see sadness behind those green eyes of hers. She's such a good girl and I feel so bad that she's stuck with me. When I say that I overcompensate, I mean that at times, I find myself giving in just because I feel sorry for her. I know that feeding a three year old lasagna and french fries every day for two months was wrong but she's living without her mother so if lasagna and french fries made her happy, I gave them to her. And here I go, overcompensating again. "Hey Lyla..." I call her name and she puts her spoon down and looks up. "After breakfast...go put on your bathing suit. We'll head to the beach when you're done." She gasps and cracks a smile, a smile that I haven't seen in a really long time. We might as well head to the beach when she's done eating, we have nothing to lose. It's almost 10:30 in the morning and if I get her home by about 6:00, I'll still have time to wash the car.

Lyla finishes off the last bit of her cereal puts her hands against the edge of table so she can push her chair out. I hear the sound of my front door opening and I'm not at all alarmed by this because I know exactly who it is. It's another one of those things that makes a Sunday morning normal...at least for the last six months. Lyla hops down from her spot at the table and runs to the front door. "Pappy! Pappy!" It used to bother me to see how happy she gets when she sees my dad, because she never gets that happy to see me. But then I realized that part of the reason she gets happy to see my dad is because he takes up a lot of time with her. He watches her while I'm at work and they do a lot of things together, like coloring and walking to the ice cream shop across town. Once I realized that's the reason she gets happy to see him, I didn't let it bother me anymore.

My dad walks in the kitchen carrying Lyla in his arms. I pick up the bowl of milk she left on the table and take it to the sink to dump it out. "Hey dad." I run some water in the bowl that the milk was in and leave it in the sink to wash for later. Ever since it happened, I've been trying my best to find some sort of routine. Before it happened, we had settled in to a very specific routine. We'd get up every morning, Jenna would have breakfast waiting for me and Lyla when we woke up, we'd put some clothes on and find something to do for the rest of the day. When I had to work, Jenna would stay home with Lyla and the two of them would do fun stuff while I was away. And that would be our daily thing. It was the only thing we could count on from day to day—that everything would be the same no matter what happened. Since it happened, I've been trying to put the pieces of our lives together to build another routine and I've been struggling. The only thing that's constant is my dad watching her while I work. "You came at a bad time...we're about to go the beach."

"You're finally taking her to the beach?" He lifts Lyla up and puts her on his shoulders. For being 62, my dad's pretty young. He likes to go jogging and exercising down at the gym. He never used to be this active and he claims it's because he wanted to get in shape so he can be a better grandfather to Lyla but I suspect that his recent fitness addiction stems from the fact that my mom's got younger man. The two of them have been divorced for 10 years but it's no secret that my dad misses her. He makes it a point to deny the fact that he misses her but I know for sure he does. My mom's 60 years old and she's dating a 45 year old and I find it mighty funny how my dad all of a sudden wants to be physically fit as soon as my mom gets a younger man. "Good...'cause I was going to take her tomorrow while you were at work. You saved me a trip."

"There's nothing else better to do, so we might as well." I go over to him and hold my hands out for Lyla. "Give her here...I'm gonna go put her bathing suit on her." He takes her off his shoulders and passes her off to me. I wish I knew how to connect with my daughter better. I would give anything to have her run to me with a smile and open arms like she does with my dad and much the way she used to do with Jenna. The reality is...when Jenna was still here, Lyla and I just coexisted. Of course I love her and I assume she loves me too but I was just her dad and she was just my daughter when her mother was still around. She had the most incredible bond with Jenna and I don't know how to mimic that bond without trying to take her place. I don't want her to feel as if I'm trying to replace her mom. "Which bathing suit do you want to wear? You want to wear your pink one or your purple one?"

"I wear the pink." She stares at my dad and scratches her head. "...Pappy come?"

"If Pappy wants to..." I look at my dad to see if I can figure out if it's a yes or no for him to come. My dad hates breaking Lyla's heart so oftentimes, he'll have me make up some sort of excuse as to why he can't do what she wants him to do because he won't tell her. A lot of times I have to read my dad's face and see if it's a yes or a no. and this time, his face is clearly a no. "Go find your bathing suit and I'll be up in a second to put it on. Daddy has to talk to Pappy about something." I bend down to the floor and let her off my hip. Without any arguments, she excitedly runs to the steps to grab her bathing suit. "What's up, dad? You don't wanna come?"

"Nah, that's not it." He walks over to the window next to my stove and looks out it. "Just don't feel like sitting out in the sun today. You know what the heat does to my knees sometimes." No matter how young he tries to be, nothing will change the fact that my dad is a whopping 62 years old and he has arthritis in his knees. Heat and rain mess with his knees sometimes, he claims. "I actually came because I heard that the YMCA is having some sort of summer party for children today and tomorrow. I was gonna see if Lyla wanted to go but since you're taking her off to the beach, I guess I'll just go on home and find something on TV to watch."

"Dad, if you want to take her..." I hate to feel like I just put a damper on his Sunday plans. My dad tries to pretend like he comes over and takes Lyla off my hands just to help me out but I know deep down that he takes her because he enjoys spending time with her. "I mean...I'm off again on Wednesday. I can just take her to the beach then..."

"No, no." He clears his throat. "I'm actually looking forward to spending time in my underwear on my couch today. They're having the party for two days. I'll just take her tomorrow...it'll be good to get her out the house. She shouldn't sit up in her room all the time like that, you know. Kids need friends and fresh air to run around in play in. You know that, don't you?" I just lean against the counter and say nothing. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Alex. I wonder how you can be a Pediatrician and stuff...and be so clueless when it comes to your own kid." I have half a mind to say something smart to him about what he just said but he's right, actually. I'm a Pediatrician—Pediatric surgeon to be specific—and I'm great at taking care of everyone's sick kids but when it comes to taking care of my own healthy one, I don't know the first thing about it. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. You should just...you know, take her to the park or something. You don't have to keep her cooped up in the house."

I take a breath and exhale. "I know." I start tracing the granite tiles that make up the countertop. "Still just...adjusting, I guess." I murmur.

"It's been six months, Alex. When are you going to stop living in the past and start living in the future? I know it's...hard and all, to do it alone but you really think Jenna would want you to go on like this? I thought you two discussed a plan." He still looks out the window as if something out there has really caught his attention but I know better and I know that the only reason he's looking out there is because he hates making eye contact when talking about a serious situation. That's at least one day that my dad and I are alike. I avoid eye contact at all costs when it comes to talking about things that are serious as well. "I thought you two talked about what you're going to do."

"We did." I shrug and mindlessly sketch my name invisibly on the countertop. "I just always figured that I had time. You know dad, just because we discussed it doesn't mean I was ready for it. Things don't always go as planned." I sigh. That's for damn sure. I didn't plan on being 30 years old and alone. I didn't plan on losing my wife when she was 30 too. I didn't plan on raising my daughter by myself. And yeah, Jenna and I had several discussions about this and he had a solid plan of what I was supposed to do. Doesn't mean that I was ready for it and damn sure doesn't make it any easier. "I should go get Lyla ready..." I take another breath to clear my thoughts before I have to go deal with my daughter.

"I'm gonna head on home." He finally stops blankly staring out the window and stands straight up. "Tell baby girl that I had to do something back at home and I couldn't come to the beach today. Tell her I'll see her tomorrow." I nod my head and he stands in the middle of the kitchen like he's about to say something. Another thing about my dad is that he's not afraid to get dirty. He's a pretty hands-on kind of guy and he likes to do odd jobs, like paint the outside of his house and work on cars. Any normal person would be able to tell from the grease-stained blue jeans he wears and the heavy, clunky combat boots. His usual getup is a crisp white t-shirt, a ball cap and it wouldn't be my dad without the dirt underneath his fingernails. I guess he was working on a car before he walked over here. He walks everywhere. He lives on the other side of Millerton and he insists on walking everywhere, even though he has a red pickup truck. "Call me if you need anything, son." He puts his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans and continues to look around. "And I mean that."

"Alright...see you later dad."

A/N: So I closed voting officially this morning & it ended with prompt 1 having 11 votes, prompt 2 having 9 and prompt three having 10. I included votes from on here and votes from my tumblr inbox. Please don't be too mad if your prompt didn't get chosen. When I have good prompts like these three, I shelf them and I will go back to them later. So don't be surprised if after this story is over, you see me write the prompt you voted for.

So with that being said, this story is prompt number 1. I know some of you read my tumblr stories as well and if you do, you've noticed that Alex's daughter is named Lyla, like the little girl in my tumblr stories. There is no similarity between this universe and the tumblr universes. I just chose to name her Lyla because I could connect with her better, since I'm already familiar with writing her character. I hope you guys like this story. I have it planned to be a pretty good one. This story is meant to be Alex-centric and I'm going to try and keep it that way as best as I possibly can.

Bear with me through the boring first chapter. You guys know I like to introduce the universe before I start with the real stuff.

Oh, and this is slightly AU. More AU on Jo's part of the story, but you'll see that soon.