12th of March 1996

I'd almost lost her that day – the day of her birth. Her delivery was treacherous. I remember looking in my wife's eyes and seeing the worst. The doctors and nurses assured me that while it seemed my little girl wouldn't make it out alive, they would try the best they could.

I remembered praying for who knows how long, surrounded by the bleeping of monitors and scrutinizing stare of the colourless lights above. Above the machinery I could hear my wife panicking, and the doctors scurrying like mice around the bed. I was so sure I could hear them saying that she wasn't breathing, and my own breath caught in my throat.

I don't know how, but I must have blacked out for a moment, because in the next I was sprawled awkwardly on a couch beside the bed in which my wife lay, holding a small bundle in her arms. She looked over to me with a smile that felt sunken and tired and she said, "She's okay, Namjoon."

The sigh of relief that echoed from my lips must have been obnoxiously loud, but I was just so happy my little girl was okay. I made my way over to my wife's side quietly, peeking over the small bundle of cloth to the scrunched up face of my newborn daughter.

I couldn't believe it; it all just felt like a dream. Once I saw that little face and the little fist curled around her mother's finger, I just couldn't stop myself from wanting to protect her. She was my fragile – ever so fragile - butterfly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I must say, trying to sleep with a newborn was probably the hardest thing I'd ever done. At times I was afraid to go to bed any later than 8pm, scared that I'd only get 3 hours of sleep. The screaming and constant crying made me insane at times, but it was all worth it in the end.

Months soon passed and Nabi became a little quieter. In the daytime one could see her dragging herself across the ground on her knees, and in the night she was so tired from her constant movement that she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. My wife and I were relieved beyond words.

Her first word was of course, "Dada" because she was a real daddy's girl. It made my heart melt, again. My wife wasn't too pleased about this, but she awaited the moment Nabi would call for her, too. Eventually, she did, along with many other bubbly, babyish words. At one point, my wife flew into a fit of rage because I swore in front of Nabi and she repeated it. I didn't mean to, I swear.

As Nabi's words slowly became proper sentences, her crawling went from shaky standing to following me around the house. At times I wished she were small and not so mobile. She was into every cabinet in existence and even ate some of our cat's litter. It was a mess to clean up, I assure you.

Not long after the gruelling toilet training, I was standing with my little daughter outside of the local kindergarten. While she stood, excited and confident, I felt as if I were in that delivery room again. I could hear the screams and laughter from the other kids inside the building and it made me fear for her safety. And I know, you're probably thinking, but Namjoon, she's only going for a couple hours a day! Yeah, yeah, that's what my wife said.

I was just...worried. She was my little girl, and I didn't want anything to happen to her.

"Now, Nabi," I told her, "What did I tell you before we came here?"

She gave me a childish roll of her eyes before reciting the rehearsed words of wisdom we'd gone through. "Do what you love to do, listen to your teacher, and most importantly, stay away from strangers."

I smiled, pleased she had remembered. "Good, now, give me a cuddle." She had wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then she sent me a wave and ran inside the building. I remember on that particular day, it was spring, and the butterflies were flying about. It seemed in that moment they all flew around me; reminding me that my little butterfly was making her way out of the cocoon I had made for her.

I was scared, so scared of it.

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"Dad, please, I'm not a baby." Nabi whined from the backseat of my car, rocking some sort of black outfit and makeup. She told me it was all 'in style' these days, and though I supported all of her outfit designs, I couldn't help thinking that this one was so not her. My little Nabi was bright and colourful, not dark and depressed.

I tried to ask her how she was going, but she always turned me down. She kept saying that I was being, 'Overprotective' and 'Paranoid'. I had noticed lately that the group she was hanging out with in high school had the same sort of outfits and mannerisms, and it was starting to get to me.

I only got more worried when I realised that those kids were smoking and doing inappropriate things behind the school blocks. I didn't want my little girl to involve herself in such a destructive state and I would not sit by and let it happen.

"Nabi, I'm putting my foot down. You're only 15, and I'm not going to allow you to ruin your life at such a young age." I told her through the review mirror. I could hear her muttering about hating me, and it hurt so much.

It wasn't long before Nabi left those friends and became herself again. She got with a guy, went to college, and tied the knot.

It was then, on her wedding day that I realised that my little butterfly was truly leaving me; flying away to another place. My wife held me as I sobbed uncontrollably that day. I watched the years fly by after that as if they were on some rotating screen I was watching. Nabi had her kids; they grew up and had their own kids.

My wife died, and then there was just me, lying on my deathbed. Nabi cried above me, and that's when I realised it was time to let her go; my little butterfly I had imagined a whole life with. It was time to free her from the cocoon I had kept her in.

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I wrote this for her, as I stand beside the tombstone of my little girl. Her name lies above the date - 12th of March 1996. I lay this letter down here for her, a ponder of what we could have been.

I watch as an orange, spring butterfly lands itself on her tombstone and sends me a glance before flying off. I can't wipe the smile off my face.

My little butterfly.