His voice is hoarse. The kids are crying again, trying to stay quiet, but their strangled sobs only make him feel worse. He picks up the overturned cereal bowl. They’re out of paper towels, so he swipes at the mess with an old t-shirt. “Nothing to cry over,” he says. He’d intended to be reassuring, but it just comes out sounding gruff. They look up at him, arms wrapped around each other, faces shining with tears, pajamas wet with spilled milk. He wishes she would come home. He’d forgive everything, if it meant he wouldn’t have to do this alone.
***
Title by: Rhoda Penmark
Story by: Jenny
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