The Day It Was Over

Everyone in the house was waiting for you. There were guests I played hostess to for HOURS, who wanted to see you, to bask in your charismatic light.

As the daylight faded, you drove home, headlights sweeping in great arcs, announcing your arrival to my racing heart. The guests allowed me to close the front door for privacy as I waited on the front porch.

Confronted, all you said was, “I had things to finish up.” It was a lame apology, but I took it. I was upset, but forgiving, because I really didn’t want to know the truth.

I sat beside the smallest child who was coloring you a Father’s Day picture. It was a vain attempt to get you to love me. I wanted some of the appreciation you would give to the small child, because if you could give it to him, you could give it to me, I’d just have to work it out of you.

But it was too late for us. My heart broke a little more when you gave the boy a mere pat on the head and sent him playing.

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