“Tell me how to fix this.” Tara swiped away the remnants of her sorrow and straightened her stance. “I don’t know, Dad. This isn’t my fourth-grade science project. You can’t just run to the store when the glue runs out and save the day.” “There has to be something.” My words bled with rawness. With pleading. “You’re my little girl.” “I’ll always be your little girl.” Tara gathered her purse from the couch and breezed past me, muttering a final statement over her shoulder that twisted the blade in my chest, all the way through. “And you’ll always be the man who broke my heart.”
