W is for Waterworks
Lisa ran from the house, as was her custom. It was seven p.m., you see, and her father was due home any minute. Her mother stayed as she was, sitting on the couch. She knew how this went. Strangely, Lisa’s father did not. He heard the tears upon his arrival and tore back out the door, finding Lisa flung upon the ground just past the neighbor’s watchful eyes, because, of course, this show was not meant for them. Lisa’s father, to whom all this was directed, knelt down next to her. Lisa gave a muffled sob before rolling onto her back, letting a single tear roll down her cheek. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms and carried her back into the house, past her mother who still sat on the couch, rolling her eyes as they went. Lisa didn’t notice. She only had eyes for her father. He carried her up to her room, and set her on her bed. They hugged for a moment, both of them satisfied. She was still the daughter he loved, and he was still her hero.
Maybe he knew how it went, after all.