That was the name I wanted for my daughter, Ariadne Luna Landeros, I fought for her more often than I let on, for every scare we had, legitimate or not, I told myself this just meant I had to step my game up because I was meeting my baby girl early. Ariadne, like the Cretan princess of the Minotaur's labyrinth. Aria for short, maybe Ari, Ria, or anything else she wanted to be called. Her choice really. She'd be my little girl and I'd raise her humbly but never let her forget she was my special girl. Every long summer workday where I'd wonder what the point was, I'd imagine you and me holding her hands on either side while she swung, testing our strength on nature walks, giggling all the while. I'd wipe the sweat off my brow with a smile fantasizing about answering all her questions regarding why's, how come's, and what if's. To braid her hair and see all the things I loved about her mother in her, I'd need to be patient. To make sure she'd never cry in hunger unsated, I'd need more time. My children would know the importance of struggle and it's impact on one's character but never go without, not while I was around. But Ariadne never was and now, she never will be.