Living With a Brat – 34

I arrived at his door and knocked.  When Daniel opened the door, he looked so sad, so damaged I had to stop my arms from embracing him.

I entered, babbling about traffic and went to the stove to make coffee.

Daniel flopped at the table, as if  he was made of rubber. He began to talk, tears in his eyes, in his voice, trying to  understand how  our daughter Gaby,  could just go away.

Instead of attending a nearby college, she chose one of lesser distinction far away.  

She left in September and beyond a phone call in October, he hadn’t heard from her.

She hadn’t returned for Christmas.  Didn’t even call.

As I poured the coffee, I  told him what he should have deduced since she was eight years old.  

Gabi cares about no one but Gabi.  

I felt sorry for Daniel and although it seems evil,   I thought; better him than me.