I can sense him watching me. My eyes burn, and I stare up at the violet sky, forcing the tears to recede before they can spill. I haven’t cried since I was seven, since the day my dad left and I found my mom weeping quietly into her hands, curled up on the couch in the empty living room. The air in the house was so heavy it threatened to crush me. I had sworn then that I wouldn’t cry, ever. I wouldn’t add to her sadness, wouldn’t drag her even further down. I would be the good daughter, the strong one, the one who kept everyone afloat.
