Before I was born my dad named me Eva which means “life”. See, my mother died in childbirth and although I was born prematurely, I survived. Since then, my heartbroken father took excellent care of me. The bond we shared was unlike any other. He taught me how to speak, walk, read, ride a bicycle - almost everything. He’d dress up in princess costumes when I decided we should have tea parties with my dolls and teddy bears, and he’d always read me a new story before bedtime. He was the perfect dad so I didn’t really find myself feeling depressed because I didn’t have a mother figure in my life. He played both roles really well.

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