Later that evening when Phil came home from work...
Phil: So.. how was school, pumpkin? Nice kids? Good teachers? Did Casey show you around?
Elizabeth: Ya, I mean it was school Dad. Really big and fancy highschool though.
Phil: Good.. I’m glad to hear..
*awkward silence*
Phil: How are you doing? Since... your mother.. you know..
Elizabeth: Dad, do we have to talk about this? Because honestly I haven’t felt this empty in a long time. The only time I feel okay is when I’m anywhere but home..
Phil: Oh - uhm... I’m sorry you feel that way.. Even though we moved.. you still don’t feel comfortable here?
Elizabeth: *sniffles* no. Because.. every single day when I walk through that door I expect to hear Mom’s lame country music.. and she her in the kitchen.. Doing some funny little dance, and have a plate of warm cookies waiting for me. And.. everytime I don’t see that, I - I *voice becomes a whisper* don’t know how many more times I can bare seeing the bare kitchen, without her energy in it.











