Daisy’s POV
I wipe down the counter in front of me with a wet rag, smiling robotically as a father and daughter stand up from their table and thank me before leaving.
I tuck a stray curl of my hair behind my ear, heading toward the table to pick up the empty milkshake glasses, plates and the one dollar left under the salt shaker which I shove into my pocket. Looking up, I come face to face with my reflection, my tired eyes staring back at me, slight shadows underneath from the fact I haven’t really slept properly in over a year. My hair, plain black, is pulled back into a ponytail, a few wisps framing my face. No colour, there hasn’t been any added since my dad . . .
I swallow hard, the familiar grief I’ve carried with me for three hundred and seventy four days as fresh as the day I bur
