When she’s alone

Daddy died when she was a child. A sunny afternoon, not dark and drizzly like you’d expect. Soon her momma was gone; not dead, just gone. Years she can’t remember, or doesn’t want to. Sure enough, she married young and had kids quickly. When they were off to school, she’d stare out the front window into the unrelenting nothingness. Divorce shattered her fragile, fading hopes. An eventual second marriage changed little. Alone again, she rocks her days away until after dinner someone helps her into bed. She waits until she’s sure she's alone and whimpers in the darkness. She whispers, "Daddy?"