The room was silent.
Chloe’s father stood near the table looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
He had never wanted praise.
That was another thing about him.
He simply did what needed doing.
For fifteen years.
Six daughters.
Six sets of school forms.
Six teenagers.
Six different heartbreaks.
There were years when he worked until his hands cracked.
Years when money was so tight that Christmas presents came from clearance aisles.
Once, when the furnace broke, he slept beside the space heater in the living room because there were not enough blankets to keep every bedroom warm.
The girls never knew until years later.
He packed lunches with food he sometimes skipped himself.
He never remarried.
Not because nobody wanted him.
Because life was already full.
“He never said you were a bad mother,” Chloe told Elena.
Elena looked at him.
“That was almost worse.”
