Pamna Mauyaq knocked on his daughter's door gently, balancing a tray of food in his other hand. From within, the sound of sobbing could be heard.

He ran a hand through his jet black hair, which was pulled back into a braid at the base of his neck. Smoothing it back was a nervous habit that went back to childhood, and although as an adult he'd mostly stopped it, parenting undid his attempts to stand tall and unshakable in a way nothing else did. The door wasn't locked, and even if it had been, their little house wasn't the most sturdily built. He did repairs for all the buildings in the town of Atqunaqtuq – he could have kicked it open easily and repaired it later. But she had to let him in, or he would have just put another hole in their relationship, and those were holes he couldn't repair even with the most creative of tools and materials. So the tall man stood outside awaiting a response. The grain of the dark wood was beginning to be familiar to him. The patterns were becoming recognizable.

This would not be the first time he stood outside her door with dinner and left it by the door to find it untouched in the morning. But it would also not be the last. He knocked again, more firmly. "Samantha. Please. Please just talk to me."

"Go away," she snapped, and he had to admit, that was progress and it was such a Sam thing to say his mouth twisted into a small, sad smile. "I told you to leave me alone."

"And I told you, you need to eat. You can be mad at me and eat, you know. They're not mutually exclusive," he replied with every ounce of humor and calm he could manage.

Truthfully Pamna was scared. If this kept up they'd need to seek a hospital and the transportation alone across Alaska to a city that could help her would wipe out their savings. He might not be able to help her. All his work, all the things he'd taught himself to do, this house he'd rebuilt for them, it might all mean nothing if he lost her to this madness. All his life he'd been able to sustain himself on the love of his life, his faith, and his community, but if he lost his daughter after everything he'd gone through in life – he wasn't sure he could take it. He didn't want to find out. Every night after he was done waiting for Sam he went outside where it was too cold to cry and sat behind the house, looking down the hill at the coastline as if the waves could give him answers. He was like the rocks on the beaches where no sand formed; the tougher edges were being worn down bit by bit. His wife was out and he knew if he looked he wouldn't like where he found her, so he didn't. He stood here instead, trying to act like his world wasn't crumbling all around him.

"I made soup," Pamna offered up to the silence. "Don't you at least want to lecture me on how eating meat is morally wrong?"

There was some sniffling, but no answer.

"Can I at least come in?"

Silence. He counted the minutes. Seconds built painfully into one, then two, then eventually seven minutes before she opened the door. Her black hair had been trimmed to shoulder length but she had put some up in a ponytail. Gingerly, he entered and placed the tray of food on her desk, taking in the room with sweeping glances of his warm gray eyes. It was as if she hadn't touched anything after ransacking the closet and her backpack. He didn't expect it to make sense and didn't comment on it. Instead he turned to his black-clad teenager, smiling at her as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at the floor. Those black clothes were his hand-me-downs. She'd always preferred to wear anybody else's throw away clothes that weren't made of animal material, but the black suddenly appealed to her, seal skin, fur trim and all.

"You look so grown up," Pamna said softly, causing her to look unreadably at him. "God, sixteen… it's hard to believe, isn't it? I guess I always thought you'd be a little girl. But you're not." She huffed and looked away, a pained expression crossing her face. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Please just talk to me. Please. Your mother and I are scared, okay? Not just worried. You're scaring us – you're scaring me."

She shut her purple eyes, identical to her white mother's, so tightly it looked like it hurt. "She's not my mother. This isn't my house. This isn't where I'm from. I've told you."

With a heavy heart, he swallowed and struggled to continue as if this were a rational discussion. "We looked, Sam. You looked. The facts are-"

"Ghosts," she cut him off, arms tightening around herself as if to shield herself from an assault. "I made a wish to a ghost. I told you already. I explained everything! Why won't anyone believe me?"

Reaching out, he pulled her close. She was as unyielding as a statue in his arms, but he could wait it out. That was the thing about Pamna, he could endure anything for seemingly impossible amounts of time. He could dig his heels in like no other. And for his family, he would do so even if every second of it hurt. She didn't quite make it up to his chin, so he rested his cheek on the top of her head, and waited patiently for what he sensed was coming. She was her mother's daughter, so it took a while. He felt the subtle shakes of her body first before the slightly quickened breathing, and then the tears forced their way out. She still didn't hug him back, but she leaned against him, and he took it for the progress it was, soothingly rubbing her back as the tears flowed more freely. They seemed endless this week. After a few minutes, her sobbing doubled as if something had hit her, some loss she felt that she couldn't explain to him. She'd babbled about so much the day this started, about friends and a boy and enemies and a school and parents and a dance and ghosts. It was hard to tell what she was mourning for anymore. All of it, maybe. Some specific parts. Pamna held her regardless as she finally let her arms go limp by her sides, and after a few more minutes, wrap around him.

"I want to go home," Sam choked out. Her voice had never been so raw, so completely broken. He felt like he was being stabbed with each word. "I just want to go home."

"You are home," he told her firmly, and she shook her head, opened her mouth to tell him for the hundredth time he wasn't her father, but he cut her off. "No matter what happened, this is your home now. I am your father. I love you more than the world. I will always love you, no matter how long it takes for you to believe it. I love everything about you, even the things that I don't understand, and there is nothing in this world that could make me give up on you. So however long it takes to get through this, I'll be here. We'll get through this together. Because I love you and that's what makes people a family and a family is what makes a house a home."

He looked into her eyes, begging her to understand. His parents were long dead when sickness had swept their tiny town of seven hundred years ago, his wife was out drinking somewhere because it was better than dealing with her dream life falling apart, he had prayed until dawn twice in one week. Pamna was a man without options left, holding on because it was all he knew how to do. He needed her to just nod, smile, give him a chance to make up for whatever had brought this on.

She pulled away from him in one fluid motion and sat down at the desk, resolute, features slowly turning from vulnerable to cold, as if they were carved from stone. "Thanks for the food." She did not look at him.

Pamna forced a smile anyway, feeling chilled to the bone despite wearing his best winter cat indoors. "Anything for you, sweet pea. I'll be outside if you need me, okay? Just holler if you need anything."

There was no answer.

Whatever she had wished for, he thought as he made his way through the clutter of their tiny home, she surely hadn't gotten it.

"I'm so tired of this! I hate you! I wish I had a good dad!"

"So you wish, so shall it be…"