Don't Leave Me
203 words
"Daddy," I whispered, "Come back," I couldn't watch as you walked out the back door, you're suitcase behind you, the wheels clicking against the tiled floor. I hugged my ratty teddy bear you gave me for my third birthday as the door closed behind you. I ran up to the door and stood tiptoe to look out the window. Out there, your car was running and a lady was sitting in the passenger seat. A pretty one, I remember. You put your bags in the trunk of the car and didn't even look at our house one time before you climbed into your car and drove away, out of my life forever.
Now, I stand in that very same kitchen, ten years later, with the boy I love. I watch as he shoulders his bag and bids me a goodbye.
“No,” My voice is hoarse, “don’t leave me.” He looks over his shoulder as his hand turns the doorknob. He just shakes his head and steps out of my house. I hold onto the counter, the edge cutting into my palm, as I hear an old car start up and drive away, out of my life forever. Some things are just too familiar.
Now, I stand in that very same kitchen, ten years later, with the boy I love. I watch as he shoulders his bag and bids me a goodbye.
“No,” My voice is hoarse, “don’t leave me.” He looks over his shoulder as his hand turns the doorknob. He just shakes his head and steps out of my house. I hold onto the counter, the edge cutting into my palm, as I hear an old car start up and drive away, out of my life forever. Some things are just too familiar.