The Night My Father Died:

The rain poured outside, lightning filling up the sky. An aroma of sweet-smelling corn filled the air. I played with my two long braids, oblivious to the world's dangers. I got down from the windowsill, my pink dress fluttering around me. 

"When is Daddy coming home?" I asked, running from the living room to the kitchen, lunging for my mother's legs. "He said he would bring me a present when he comes home." I looked up at my mom expectantly, her hazel eyes looking down at me in surprise. My Nana always said I looked more like my dad: blond hair and blue eyes, but my mom and I had one thing in common. We both had flat noses. She bopped mine with a laugh, saying, "He'll be back any minute now, sweety. Go play with Grandma in the living room." 

I nodded solemnly and skipped to my Grandma, sitting in front of the TV. "Nana, Nana, do you know when my daddy's returning?" I climbed on her lap as she flicked the screen off. 

"Come here, Angel. Your daddy's plane arrived late, but I'm sure he's riding back in a cab just as we speak. I'm sure he can't wait to see you." Nana squeezed me tight and whispered, "I know your daddy's been out for work a lot more recently, but he's found a new job offer here in Miami, so you'll get to see him regularly."

 I didn't really understand what my Nana had said at the time, but I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing my daddy more. I gave my Grandma a peck on the cheek and hopped off, racing to tell Danny the good news. Danny was my big brother. He was eleven years older than me and loved the color black. 

"Danny, Danny, Nana just told me that Daddy won't leave anymore. He's coming to stay!" I was about to hop on his bed when he yelled at me, "Get out! He never really stays. Don't get your hopes up, and don't bother me."

Tears sprung in my eyes as I processed my shock. Danny had never yelled at me like this before. I ran out of his room crying. I grabbed my doll and went to my room; a ringing coming from downstairs. I wiped my eyes and ran to the phone, my last encounter soon forgotten. Was Daddy calling? 

My mom grabbed the phone as my grandmother set up the table. A delicious aroma of chicken and sweet corn again filled the room, and my mouth started to water. My mommy made the best meals. I swallowed, "Who is it?" 

As I sat down, ready to eat the feast put out in front of me, I saw a look of shock pass my mom's features. Her face turned pale, and her hands began to shake. 

"Anita, what is it? Talk to me, honey." My grandmother dropped the plates on the table and ran to my mom. 

"Angel, please go to your room. Mommy and I need to have a talk." My Grandma said, her face devoid of all emotion. 

I started to cry. Why was my mom acting so weird, and why were they trying to get rid of me? I ran back up the stairs, stopping on the last stair. I peered downstairs, seeing my Grandma guide my still-in-shock mother to the couch. The next moment, the floodgates came open, and my mother put her head in her hands. I couldn't stop myself, and I began to cry, too. My mother never cried.

I raced to the couch and cuddled beside her, digging my head into her lap. "Oh honey, it's your dad. He got into an accident. He didn't make it. A big gulp filled my throat, and I squeaked, "He isn't coming home?"

"He's not coming back, sweety, he's not coming back."

All of a sudden, the house didn't feel like home anymore. Everything felt empty and dead without my daddy. My hunger was gone and replaced with something else. Just then, I saw my brother's face. 

"What?" Danny's quivering voice filled the echoing silence. "I knew it. Daddy wasn't coming back. He left us again like he's been doing all these years. He never cared about us, and I'm glad he got what's coming for him!" 

"Danny!" My Nana shouted. "Not here, not now. You don't mean that, and you know it's not true. Your dad loved you. He was just trying to care for you in the way he knew best."

"No! He doesn't deserve excuses. He cared more about his job than he did for us, and I hate him for it." At this point, he sunk to the floor, rocking and screaming. His words broke up, and all he could say were stuttering noises. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, his form going silent. 

My tears wouldn't stop. Danny, my mom, my choppy breathing and watery eyes; only my Grandma stayed strong. She stayed strong for all of us. Until she, too, burst out weeping. 

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I look back now on that traumatic experience with tears in my eyes. My Grandma passed away two years ago, and my brother is married with a family of his own. He got over his emo phase, and he's been a good father. I'm studying for a degree as an author, wanting to bring hope to people who have also gone through similar experiences through my writing. 

My mom never remarried but followed her dream to be a chef and now owns her own restaurant. I still have good memories of my dad. There were good times. But every time I think about him, I think about that night. The night we never ate dinner but instead cried over the death of a loved one. Together, we managed to move on, but I don't know if I ever really did. I still have his locket, the present he never got to give, on the night that we didn't eat, on the night that my father died.

*Please leave suggestions and reviews for me so that I can improve. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. (: