At night, my mummy wakes up crying.
She does this every single night without fail.
It upsets me.
It upsets my Daddy too.
I know this because every time Mummy wakes up crying, he starts crying as well.
Big fat tears run down his face as he holds her in his arms, cuddling and comforting her, like he does to me when I fall over and hurt myself.
He whispers nice things to her. Things that help her to stop crying. Things that seem to help him stop crying too.
"It's okay, Katniss, it's okay."
"It was only a dream."
"Please, darling, stop crying."
"They can't get us now. We're safe. You're safe."
He repeats these words over and over again until my mummy quietens.
He then cradles her on the bed, rocking her slowly like a baby, as she drifts back off to sleep.
Every night I watch this routine from their doorway.
And every night, after Mummy has fallen asleep, Daddy breaks down again.
He cries and cries and cries.
Until he can cry no more.
And, from the doorway, I watch my daddy's eyes.
I watch his tired, red eyes, as they look at my sleeping mummy.
And I think that, even in a moment of sadness and pain, my daddy still looks at my mummy like she is the most beautiful woman in the world.