A Mailbox Of Letters | ✓

| NINE |

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever." —Alfred Tennyson

Monday again. I barely got a wink of sleep last night or the night before. All my brain thought of was your smile that was directed at me after so long. A bird chirped outside my window as I threw my curtains open and wrapped my blanket around my shoulders.

I twirled around my room and watered my plants outside my window and danced to the bathroom. I got ready in a matter of minutes and flew down the stairs with a lilt in my steps. But my mood damped momentarily as I saw my father in the kitchen.

He was sipping his green tea quietly, shuffling documents. I entered the kitchen with dimmed alacrity, my brain shutting off at the uncommon sight that greeted my eyes.

It had been 8 months since I saw my father in the kitchen.

I coughed and he looked up. His eyes were partially concealed by his spectacles and his lips pressed themselves into a thin line. "Auriana," He greeted me as if I was a stranger in his house.

"Father," I greeted back just as indolently, if not more as I tried not to get his attitude to affect my mood. I scuffled around and toasted my bread and applied jam before taking a seat three places away from him.

I felt his tired eyes taking in my appearance, top to bottom. It felt like he was reassuring himself that I was fine without him there to take care of me. After a few minutes he spoke up,

"Auriana, I'm leaving for my meeting in two days. I won't be back until after your birthday."

My fingers feel limp and the toast dropped from my hands. I knew he wasn't gonna be around but why was I feeling like so? Maybe because a little part of me really believed my father would deny traveling on my birthday.

"Go, it's not like you've really cared if you're home or not from the past year." I responded monotonously, my eyelids feeling heavier as moisture filled in my eyes.

"You know that this house isn't the best place for me to be right now," Dad sighed and for the first time I felt angry at him.

I felt angry that all he cared about was himself and his grief when he had a daughter at home who lost her mother. I felt angry that he was running away like a coward, leaving his own blood behind just to forget his wife.

 Damian, in all my years I remembered growing up, never have I ever yelled at my father but I did today.

"I understand that you miss her! I understand because I lost her too, Dad! I lost Mom too. I was there when she was wheeled into the emergency room from the crash as Amelia's mother called you. I saw her when she was bloodied and battered and I saw her again in the coffin as you piled dirt on top of her."

A strangled sob left my mouth as I grasped my chest, my mind replaying those swift memories that burned like flames of fire dancing on oil.

"I don't know how I came home that day, all I knew was that you left me at the funeral, alone. These past few months have been hell for the both of us but at least I had hoped that you would turn back and remember that you have a daughter waiting for you! I waited but you never came Dad, you never came,"

I ran out of the room and Dad stood up, his chair scraping against the wood but I had already locked my room and sank to the floor. It hurt that he didn't care. It hurt that she left us too suddenly.

It hurt everywhere, Damian.

I didn't attend school. All I did was cry inside my room pathetically until Amelia and Neil cheered me up with pints of choco chip icecream as they barrelled in after school.

I wondered whether Dad felt guilty or not, he never knocked on the door to apologize. I wished I was back at the Cafe with you, away from this drama...

How can life change so suddenly?