When my dad died last spring, the world went silent in a way that hurt. He was the steady in every storm—the too-sweet pancakes, the groan-worthy jokes, the pep talks that always ended with, “You can do anything, sweetheart.” After Mom died when I was eight, it was just the two of us for nearly a decade—until he married Carla Carla moved through rooms like an ice draft. Perfume like cold flowers. Smiles that never touched her eyes. Nails filed into neat little points. When Dad’s heart gave out, I didn’t see a single tear at the hospital. At the funeral, when my knees went weak at the graveside, she leaned in and whispered, “You’re embarrassing yourself. He’s gone. It happens to everyone.”…CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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