27
“I won’t!” I scream.
I’m five-years-old.
“C’mon, Jessica,” Mommy coaxes.
“No!” I run upstairs and hide my face beneath my Little Mermaid covers.
Mommy knocks, softly, on the door. She doesn’t understand that I can’t see him. I won’t. As long as I refuse to say goodbye, he can’t die.
Only, that isn’t how it happens. A week after I storm into my bedroom at the house we’ve always lived in as a family of four, I stand beside Daddy’s casket, sobbing into Mommy’s pretty black dress. She doesn’t scold me for ruining the fabric. She simply holds me close.
I want to crawl into his grave, I tell her, so I can say I’m sorry and make him wake up.
“That’s not how it works.”
“How does it work?” I want to know.
“It’ll be okay.” Her mouth says, but her eyes tell me she’s lying.
Chloe stares
