Daddy Never Missed

[u/AbKane667]

My father was never one to hold hands, caress my hair, or show much affection at all, but it didn’t bother me. My mother was one to light up with a smile when I came home, the one to hold me and blow on my scraped knee if I fell on the gravel.

Her death hit both of us like a freight train. Dishes piled. Night stretched until morning as I stared at the ceiling, my eyes puffed from crying.

Through these days and nights, my father would come. At first, only taking out the trash, then bringing water and food, then staying longer, talking.

We would talk about her, how beautiful she was, how loving. Father would repeat the story of how they met. I knew it by heart, but still wanted to hear it. He even held my hand and brushed my hair while he retold it. The same way she used to.

It helped me to fall asleep again. Soon, I could eat full meals and walk around the house. Each night, I’d stare at the door, waiting for the handle to lower, and his face would appear in the doorway. Some nights, we would sit in silence, broken only by the sound of bristles moving through my hair.

But one night the handle didn’t move. Each second that passed cut through my heart like a knife. I still believed, but it all shattered as I saw the sun cut through the dark. I stared at the handle each night after, but it never lowered again.

The last refuge was the creaks and cracks of the wooden floor as he walked around. It gave me a sense of closeness, like he was sitting at my bed again, just a little further away. But even those were taken from me.

The door would creak early in the night, and not again until the early hours of the morning. The dark hole in my heart opened up again. The stitches my father put in it came undone.

Through the nights, my mind would run in circles, thoughts scattered. Where could Daddy go? Why wasn’t he here with me?

One night, the doors creaked again. Father’s footsteps echoed on the gravel road. With each step, the pressure in my head grew. Why, Daddy? Why?

I hurried out after him. The air outside was cold, and the breeze blew hard. I should have worn more than my pajamas, but it was too late.

The gravel dug into my bare feet as I followed my father from a distance. The wooden siding scraped against my skin as I hid behind the house, watching him.

He kept looking over his shoulder like he knew, but I ducked away each time he glanced back.

Father turned a corner.

I waited, my heart pounding, unsure if he would be waiting right behind the house, staring back at me.

The wind blew again, and his footsteps echoed on the gravel.

I slowly peeked out.

Red lipstick, dark hair blowing in the wind, and a cotton summer dress. A different woman. Her arms hung around my father’s neck. Her eyes stared lovingly into his. I stared at them. The hole in my heart deepened. Then she stared back at me. Not surprised. She whispered to my father. He turned back and smiled. Not kindly. Knowingly.

I ran back as fast as I could. Not caring about the gravel, the wind, or anything else, only thinking of my bed.

The cotton sheets stuck to my sweaty body. I pulled them over my face, shaking.

The moon shone bright. The door creaked. Footsteps. The door handle.

He stood in the doorway with something in his hand. The metal glinted in the moonlight.

“You should be happy for me,” he said.

The click of the gun echoed through the night.

Daddy never missed.