"Where were you this afternoon?" I tilt my head tothe side. "You promised to help me blow out the candles."
A soft glow lies behind his heavy eyelids. "I know, Princess, I know."
"You forgot," I stomp my foot on the ground and clench my fists. "You forgot about me."
He presses his lips together with effort. "I'm so sorry, you have to believe me."
I see that he's telling the truth. There are wrinkles on his forehead and a hint of self-loathing in his voice, which stirs my compassion. Although he broke his promise, I take a hesitant step toward him. "What held you up?"
With a wistful smile, he waves me over. "Come here, I'll tell you."
Of course, I run to him. How could I not, when he looks at me like that? I climb onto his lap and snuggle against his chest.
He wraps his arms around me, gently rocking me back and forth, and tells me about his boss at the engine factory who forced him to work overtime again.
We need the money. Because we're poor.
That's why he's rarely home. And when he is, he's tired. Sometimes his eyes just close on their own after he's taken the last bite of dinner.
"Next year, everything will be different," he says in conclusion, holding me tightly.
I look up at him, unsure. "Promise?"
He grimaces as if something is hurting him. Then he nods. A single tear finds its way down his cheek.
I wipe it away. He must not be sad. "Do you want to see what I painted for you today?" I ask because I know he'll like my drawing. It shows the two of us in aflower meadow. The sun is shining. He lifts me high in the air, and we both laugh.
He nods. "You hold all the love in the world within you, never forget that." He gently squeezes me. "Thank you for not being mad at me, Princess." I can barely understand his words, his voice faltering.
Of course, I'm not mad. He does so much for us. And he's just tired. Terribly tired.
His eyes close before I can show him my drawing. I climb down from his lap, take the thick blanket from the sofa, and wrap it around him. Then I kiss his rough cheek.
"Sleep well, Dad," I whisper as quietly as I can so as not to wake him up.
"Sleep well, Dad," I say once again in the here and now. With a sense of nostalgia, I take a deep breath, rise from the edge of Sophia's bed, and tiptoe out of the room. The wooden floor creaks, but luckily, it doesn't wake the little one. Once I've closed the door behind me, I begin my search for Josh.
Josh. The traitor.
I hurry down the rustic staircase and search through the quaintly furnished dining area of the adjacent inn. He's not there. Nor is he on the weathered wooden terrace. Only Jasmin is outside, shrugging helplessly when I ask about Josh. My path leads me back to the stage, and with each step, anger boils within me. I can't wait to confront him and unleash my thoughts about his behavior.
It will not only help Sophia but also myself. Whenever his presence softens me, I just need to remember what he did today. Instantly, any trace ofweakness will vanish. I will be strong. In front of him. And a little bit for myself.
There, up ahead, is the stage entrance. The sound of cheerful chatter reaches my ears. It seems like a lot of people are celebrating extensively. Ready to crash the party, I rush up the stairs.
Once I reach the landing, I collide with Tamika.
"Can I help you?" She raises her perfectly groomed eyebrows.
I square my shoulders. "Where is Josh?" I know I sound confrontational, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't deserve anything less.
Immediately, Tamika crosses her arms in front of her chest. Her expression tells me that she definitely won't let me pass. "What do you need?"
"I need to talk to him," I fixate on her intensely. "Right now."
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but he explicitly asked me not to allow any interruptions. He's very busy."
Yes, he's busy. Much too busy with things that make him forget all about the trust he shattered with his daughter today.
