My stomach somersaults, nausea at a peak high. I take long breaths to push through it because seeing my father and talking to him is the only way I will know how he truly feels.

And I need to know he’s suffering. I need to know he’s hurting from the action of hitting his favorite and only little girl he has cherished all these years.

Honestly, I’m terrified. But as the house comes into view, I notice that my father’s police car isn’t in the driveway. Something unsettling sits in my belly, but I keep walking.

I get inside and take a minute to look at my surroundings. I know this house by heart, every nook and cranny, all the way down to the squeaky floorboards. My heart grows heavy. I love everything about this house. I love how simple and elegant it is. But now that Mom is gone, everything here feels empty.

Making my way up the stairs, I look around, stopping in front of my father’s bedroom. I can’t help but stare inside. Mom used to bring light into the home. She’d open all the curtains first thing in the morning while Dad made the bed. He was always precise. Everything had to be perfect. A small laugh emerges as my mind drifts down memory lane.

***

My little feet run across the hallway. I see Dad adjusting the pillows and then the blanket. Mom is opening the curtains and the blinds. My tiny feet jump up and down with excitement. I’m always excited when Daddy has the day off because that means we all go out together.

Dad turns his head up at me and smiles. “Hey, sweetie.” He stops what he’s doing, comes over to me, crouches down, and grabs my little hands in his large ones. “Do you want to see something cool?”

I hop on my tiptoes, jump some more, and nod my head. Dad holds my hand and brings me to the bed. He lets it go and finishes stretching out the blanket, tucking each corner as tight as he can.

Mom comes over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, honey. You’re not going to show her the quarter trick, are you?” she asks Dad.

“A trick!” I shout, clapping my hands together and jumping some more. “I love tricks. I want to see it. Let me see. Daddy, show me, show me.”

Dad chuckles. I look at Mom, and she shakes her head with a broad smile on her face. She releases my shoulder and walks to the dresser to pull out a quarter from her wallet. Then she hands it to me while Dad makes sure there are no wrinkles in the blanket.

When Dad finishes, he approaches me, resting on one knee, and plucks the coin out of my fingers. “Do you think this quarter can bounce?” he asks.

I shake my head. “That’s silly. It’s not a bouncy ball.”

“You’re correct.” He rises, standing straight on his feet. “But what if it can?”

I look at Dad, my little eyes wide, and I hop again on my toes. “That’d be so cool.”

He hands me the coin back. “Drop this on the bed. I guarantee it’ll bounce.”

My eyebrows crease. I don’t believe him, but I love experiments. So, I do it anyway. I toss the coin in the air with all my strength, watching it fall onto the bed, and it flings back up. My mouth drops open.

“It bounced! It bounced!” I shout. Excitement fills my voice.

Mom and Dad laugh together, and I leap into Dad’s arms, wrapping my little arms around his neck.

***

I force myself out of the memory, feeling my heart swell, and walk down the end of the hallway to the room where Mom used to read. I haven’t had enough strength since being home to step foot into this room. The heartache of losing Mom was enough. I didn’t want to feel more pain by imagining me sitting on her lap while she read me stories.

I lick my lips, reaching for the knob. My mouth parts as the knob doesn’t budge.

What the fuck?

This door is never locked.

I tell myself that Dad may feel the same as I do. Being mom’s favorite room in the house, perhaps he, too, can’t endure the memories we all once had. I shove my concern aside for later.

I take a deep breath and go into my room to change. Once I’m appropriately dressed, I pull up my father’s contact information in my phone and hit the call button.

As the phone rings, I nervously chew on my bottom lip.

He answers. “Summer. Where have you been?” His voice is full of worry.

“Hey, Dad. I’m OK. I was with…” I stop there, remembering how angry he was when I told him I was with Alec the last time. “It doesn’t matter. I’m home now.”