I was holding her on the balcony tonight, just after sunset. My daughter. My beautiful, perfect little girl, all swaddled and warm against my chest. The air was cool, the city lights just starting to twinkle below us. We live on the 18th floor, you know. High enough that the ground looks like a miniature set, the cars like toys. And I was holding her, so small and fragile, feeling that deep, visceral tenderness that still surprises me sometimes. It’s a good feeling, a solid feeling, like a anchor finally finding purchase after years of drifting. And then it happened. Just a flash. A flicker in my mind, quick as a camera shutter. My hands, slightly sweaty, the smooth, plump weight of her in my arms, and then… the thought of just letting go. Not throwing her, not pushing, just… loosening my grip. An accident. A terrible, unimaginable, completely unavoidable accident that would happen in less than a second. I saw it, crystal clear. The sudden lightness in my arms, the impossible scream tearing from my throat, the horrifying plummet. It was so vivid I almost gasped aloud. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape, and I squeezed her tighter, so tight I probably made her uncomfortable, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't release that grip, even for a moment, for fear my mind would follow through on that monstrous impulse. I stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity, the gentle weight of her in my arms suddenly feeling like a crushing burden. I kept repeating "don't drop her, don't drop her" in my head, a frantic, silent mantra, even though I knew I never would. I would sooner cut off my own hands. But the thought had been there. It had been *mine*. And I’m so angry about it. Furious. At myself, at whatever dark corner of my brain dredged that up, at the sheer, terrifying absurdity of it all. It makes me feel… dirty. Like there's something fundamentally broken inside me that even this — this life I fought so hard to build, this tiny, innocent creature — can’t fix. I just stood there until the chill finally forced me back inside, away from the railing, away from the edge. And she just slept, oblivious, her tiny hand curled against my thumb. She deserved better than that moment, and I hate myself for having it.