a four poster bed

Things were different now. Before when the morning light first hit the windows and she crawled into the bed, it was just mommy. Always just mommy. Daddy left before the light and he'd come home after it left again, smelling of soot and sweat.

The smell was gone now. Now he smelled of soap and lingering smells of mommy. Crawling up onto the foot of the bed she watched them, not moving closer just yet. It was so different than before. Before mommy would pull her close, hot tears against her skin when mommy thought she was asleep.

But mommy didn't cry as much anymore. She didn't miss him or worry about him like she used to.

There was a small bit of mattress between mommy and daddy. Barely enough for her, at a skinny and frail eight, to fit into. She tried though, settling herself between her parents, trying hard not to wake either.

Daddy moved in his sleep, shifting some, then realizing that the curly blonde hair next to him wasn't mommy's. His eyes blinked open for a moment, looking at her though it almost seemed like he was still dreaming. After a moment, he pulled her closer, snuggling his little girl next to him.

She'd practiced, all those mornings in the pale light of dawn with mommy, how to make it seem like she'd drifted to sleep, how to even her small little breaths. She did it now, waiting to see what he'd do. After a moment, she felt it, the same hot tears against the top of her head. Not mommy's tears though. This time it was daddy's turn to cry.