My father is the First 15

In the end, Dad didn’t spend Tom’s birthday with him. He went back to our home instead, which was now empty. At some point, Mom had moved everything that belonged to me and her away. 

Dad rummaged through the things in a frenzy and made a complete mess. He trembled as he called Mom, but although he made several calls, they all went unanswered. 

“Sandy, don’t you want me anymore?” 

Dad sobbed like a pup. He looked so ugly that I turned my head away. I didn’t want to look at him. 

I hadn’t cried like that in a long time. Dad was clearly more immature than I was. 

He kept crying until he collapsed. He just happened to fall on the smashed porcelain doll. The forgotten pile of broken pieces was the only thing left in the empty room. 

Dad carefully picked up all the pieces and held them tightly to his chest. The sharp edges dug into his flesh, but he didn’t seem to feel the pain. 

“This is the first gift Ray gave me when she was four years old,” he murmured to himself. 

There was a flash of nostalgia in his eyes. 

I didn’t feel anything: Dad had really liked my gift back then. He had put it in the most conspicuous spot on his desk. 

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