“With torn clothes, filthy hands, and a tear-streaked face, she lifted her hand and knocked once, slowly, timidly. Before she could muster the courage to knock again, the door cracked open. Hanging her head in shame, she could only see his feet. It was him. Her dad. Her father. The King. She fell at his feet and cried, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I am so ashamed of what I have done.” Gently, the King knelt down beside her and pulled her into his strong, comforting arms. “Come here, my child, my princess,” he said. “But I am not a princess anymore. I’m just like them,” she sobbed. “Ah, my child,” he said. “You may have acted like them, but you are not one of them. You are mine, and you will never be happy until you accept both the privilege and the responsibility that goes with belonging to me.” That night, (...) as she settled into the soft quilts, she thought about how much she liked being a princess, the daughter of the King. As the King walked out of the room, the dim night light softly illuminated his royal robe, which was now smudged with dirt. Tears filled the princess’s eyes, “Look what I’ve done to the King’s robe. Never again,” she whispered. Sensing her broken heart, the King turned and spoke softly, “Yes, my child, there will be other times, but I will open the door every time you knock and I will always love you…ever again.” And this story has no end." ”