I tugged at my itchy sleeve, wanting to pull the strange clothes off, but mommy would be cross if I did. Folding my arms, I leaned back in my seat and stared out the window like daddy does when he's bored. Where is he? I dropped my arms and hopped off the stool to search between the endless pairs of legs. Some of them I knew, but why are there so many people? Are they here to see daddy too?

I tripped over my shiny stiff shoes that feel so different from my slip-on sneakers and fell onto somebody's legs. Mommy! Tugging at her dress, I asked where daddy was, can I see him, why is he staying here?

She smiled at me and I hated it. It wasn't her real smile, the one she gives me when draw for her, when daddy kisses her, when our kitten crawls into her lap. It was the one she made when I tried on these bad new clothes on, when she welcomed grandma into our house, and when she told me daddy couldn't read me a bedtime story.

I understood. Daddy wouldn't be coming home.