It had been a year since John’s daughter, Cindy, had left home to live with her husband. John woke up that morning with a feeling of anxiety. He couldn’t really tell why, but he felt worried. “Maybe it will go away after breakfast,” John thought. As he sat down in the kitchen, waiting for the eggs to boil, he remembered how he used to prepare breakfast for Cindy. Her mother had died when she was ten, and he had been raising her all alone. It wasn’t easy. He remembered how many fights they had at this very kitchen table he was sitting at. Cindy was always rebellious. And he wasn’t the most patient of fathers.
He also remembered when she used to come injured at home… John used to dress her wounds at this very kitchen sink. Then she would lie on the couch and John would let her watch anything she wanted, and made her favorite dish, lasagna. She was so small on that couch… so vulnerable…
Cindy had a knack for getting into trouble. “Mostly because of her so-called friends,” thought John. “She always had a big heart. My Cindy would always help anyone. Even the ones who hurt her the most. Especially those.”
John sighed and took the eggs out. “God, I hope she’s okay,” he murmured to himself. Cindy was always bad at choosing her friends. She was even worse at choosing her boyfriends.
The old man ate his eggs, looking at the wall in front of him. The one with the wallpaper she chose. John lost his appetite and threw away the rest of the eggs. A tear dropped on the fork as he was putting it in the sink. “I just wish she’d give me a call. Just one…”
It had been a year since John’s daughter, Cindy, had left home to live with her husband. John woke up that morning with the sun shining bright through the clean window. He wasn’t feeling too good, but thought it will go away after he had eaten something. As he sat down in the kitchen, waiting for the eggs to boil, he remembered how he used to prepare breakfast for Cindy. Her mother had died when she was ten, and he had been raising her all alone. It wasn’t easy. But they managed.
Cindy was always a very studious girl. John remembered the time when he surprised her and bought her those black bookshelves, so she could have a place where to put her ever-growing number of books. She always liked sharing her books. That was her way of making friends. And she was good at it. Cindy always knew whom to pick to be her friend. And they liked to stay right here, at this kitchen table, to study. Sometimes, when john would come home early from work, he would make lasagna for Cindy and her friends. She loved lasagna. Afterwards, she would clean the table, and help him wash the dishes, even though he would tell her it wasn’t necessary.
She never had any problems with boys, neither. The father could always trust his daughter’s judgment. John took the eggs out and started eating. He started to feel better. The rays of the sun shone right on the table. Right on the spot where Cindy carved her name when she was six. “My little ray of sunshine,” John smiled, when his phone rang.
“Hello, pumpkin. I was just thinking about you.”
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