A Single Dad Asked for a Job… She Said, ‘I Want a Daughter.’ What Happened Next Left Him in Shock.

Chapter 5

The work was brutal.

The north fence was in worse shape than Clara had described. Posts were splintered, wire tangled and broken, whole sections trampled flat. It would take days to repair properly. Maybe weeks.

But I welcomed the labor. Welcomed the way it made my muscles burn and my hands bleed. It gave me something to focus on besides the impossible situation I’d walked into.

I worked through the morning heat, sweat pouring down my back, and tried not to think about May calling Clara “Mama.” Tried not to think about what that meant, what I’d agreed to, what I might be losing even as I saved her life.

At noon, Clara rang a bell from the porch. I dropped my tools and walked back, my shirt soaked through, my hands raw.

Inside, the table was set with cold chicken, fresh bread, and some kind of pickled vegetables. May was sitting at the table, propped up with pillows, her face still pale but her eyes clear.

“Papa!” she said when she saw me, and my heart soared.

I crossed to her in three strides, knelt beside her chair, took her small hands in mine. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Tired. But Miss Clara made me soup and it was good.”

“Miss Clara is taking very good care of you.”

“She said I can call her Mama Clara. Is that okay?”

I looked up at Clara, who stood by the stove with her back to us, shoulders tense.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

May nodded solemnly. “I like her. She’s nice. And she smells like Mama did. Like flowers.”

The knife in my chest twisted deeper.

We ate in near silence. May picked at her food, eating only a few bites before declaring herself full. Clara didn’t push her, just wrapped the leftovers in cloth and set them aside.

“Back to work,” Clara said to me when the meal was done. “Fence won’t fix itself.”

I worked until sunset, until the sky turned orange and purple and the first stars appeared. My hands were shredded, my back screamed, but I’d made real progress. Three sections repaired, new posts set, wire strung tight.

When I finally returned to the house, Clara had supper waiting. More stew, this time with dumplings floating in it. May was already asleep in her room.

“She ate a little more at supper,” Clara reported. “Her color’s better. Give her another few days and she’ll be running around like nothing happened.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

Clara looked at me across the table, her expression serious. “You’re paying me back with your labor, Silas. And with what we agreed. Don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good.” She stood and started clearing dishes. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“The people in town. They’ll talk. A widow living alone with a man who’s not her husband. It won’t sit well.”

I hadn’t thought about that. Hadn’t thought about anything beyond survival.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Let them talk. I stopped caring what they thought a long time ago.” She met my eyes. “But you should know what you’re walking into. They’ll call you names. Call me worse. They’ll say I’m a fallen woman and you’re a drifter taking advantage.”

“I would never—”

“I know that. But they won’t.” She turned back to the dishes. “Just be prepared.”

That night, back in the tack room, I lay awake thinking about Clara’s words. About the bargain we’d made. About May calling her “Mama Clara.”

And I wondered if I’d saved my daughter’s life only to lose her heart.