Winter Garden

“He is my home,” her mother said, shaking her head. “How will I live without him?”

She thought she’d known pain before, but she hadn’t; not until this moment.

Dad had spent his life trying to create love where none existed—between his wife and his daughters—and he couldn’t give up even now.

The last thing she wanted was to give someone the power to hurt her.

Ah’m goin’ t’ be farhty next moonth.

Through the lacy snow on the windshield, she saw her parents through the living room window. Dad pulled her mother into his arms and kissed her. They began to dance haltingly, although there was probably no music in the house. Her dad didn’t need any; he always said he carried love songs in his heart.