Sara had overslept. The postman had arrived and for the first time in ages, her father had gotten the mail before her. She panicked, scrambling out of bed and changing into her day clothes before walking swiftly into the living room. Her father was sitting on the couch reading a letter with a frown. She could tell was from Gil by the paper it was written on. She took a deep breath as her father looked up at her.
"Who is this?" he asked, a trace of disappointment present in his voice. She looked down and sat on one of the chairs adjacent to the couch.
"Gil. He's.. a friend.." she lied unconvincingly. He narrows his eyes at her.
"Don't lie to me. He sounds more than a little friendly in this letter." he said accusingly, "When did you meet him? And when were you planning on telling me about him?"
She crossed her legs, knowing that this was not going to be a quick conversation. She had kept an important relationship from her father, but with good reason. He was a pacifist, completely opposed to the war and the soldiers fighting in it. Sure, Gil had been drafted, but she wasn't sure that he would understand.
"I met him a few months ago. He had some time before he had to get on the army bus, and he wanted someone to talk to. I agreed, and he asked if he could write letters to me." she paused, getting a little choked up as she remembered the day they met. "He's a good man, daddy."
He set the letter down on the table and sighed, putting his hand to his chin and stroking his beard.
"He's a soldier." he said. He paused and looked back up to her, a certain urgency and anger glimmering in his eyes. "I want to see the letters he wrote you. All of them."
He folded his arms and leaned back on the couch, wordlessly telling her that there was no point in arguing; he wanted to see them, and he was going to one way or another. She knew his body language well and slowly walked back to her room to collect her pile of letters from Gil. They were all neatly stored back in their original envelopes. She held them carefully in her arms and walked back to the room her father was in. She laid them gently on the coffee table. He roughly took one from the table and opened it up. He frowned as he read it.
"He wrote down his observations of bugs? And sketched them? What exactly do you like about this guy?" he asked insensitively. She sighed and looked away. She knew he would never understand anything about him.
"He wants to be an entomologist when he gets back." she said a little defensively. "And I love everything about him." She blushed as she thought about the word choice. Her father scoffed.
"Love? You don't know the first thing about love." he said airily. She looked at her feet, biting her tongue so that she wouldn't say anything more that might anger him.
"Why did he sign up to be a soldier if he's this much of a bookworm?" he asked wryly. She glared at him, still holding back.
"He didn't. He was drafted." she said coolly. He continued to read the letters as they sat there in silence.
"How old is he?" he asked, not looking up.
"He's eighteen." she said, taking a deep breath. He looked up, shocked.
"Sara, you're fifteen. What are you thinking, having a relationship with an eighteen year old soldier? He's too old for you. And how can you two be in love, if you've only physically been together once?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I don't want you writing to him anymore."
She lept up from her chair angrily, not bothering to hold anything back anymore.
"I'm not a child. And you wouldn't know the first thing about love. You're the reason that Mom left us." She felt only slightly guilty at making this accusation, for she had always known that it was his fault. "I won't stop writing to him."
Her father lept up from the couch, taking her collection of letters with him as he walked to the blazing fire. He tossed them in all at once. Sara's heart just about stopped as the paper curled and burned.
"What makes you think you're smart enough to make your own decisions?" he yelled, stomping to her side. She breathed deeply and heavily, fuming and afraid. When she didn't answer, he slapped her. She looked up at him in disbelief before going to her room, her footfalls heavy on the floor. She locked the door and laid on her bed. She felt so empty inside when she realized that all the letters he had sent her were gone. Gone forever, consumed by the unrelenting fire. She rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow, not stopping the giant sobs that emanated from deep inside her heart.