In the few months I had been there, I had blossomed as my body developed, my breasts, though small, were of sufficient shape and desirably, twin peaks...adorned with cup-caked areola, typical for girls my age, hence my reluctance to wear a brassiere, especially in the house, I let them sway in a fluid motion, enticing men to reach for them and tease the nipples to harden, daddy had noted this and remarked as to their teasing, I responded brazenly one morning by removing my shirt, I breakfasted. It was stark and a dose of reality that he wasn’t really prepared to accept. He’d had these ‘doses’ of reality over the past year and this was one of the hardest. She was actually dead. He raised his head and listened, and there was only quiet. The girls were asleep, their nap time, his thinking time. He set the accident report down and tried, once again, to reconcile it to any reality that he knew, make sense of it. Nothing came. Nothing happened. Nothing helped. He realized that this was all. More

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