Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"Why do you look sad Father?" I ask.
I ask because I need to know, I don't have to know, but I need to know.
Father closes his sad yet kind, exhales, inhales and opens again when all traces of sad have faded away and there is only kind left.
The kindest of kind, the kind that makes me smile. So I do.
"Never mind a foolish old man, Isabella," Father says. "Sometimes our wishes aren't what is best. Not for us, nor for those involved."
My head tilts to the left, because I don't understand.
"I don't understand Father." I voice my thoughts.
He smiles and shakes his head, and whispers I know you don't.
Thank you for reading.
