Cheat

Dear Dad,

I pretended like I never heard the sharp sound of the delicate ping floating through the air. You never saw the way I flinched at the innocent ringtone. I never wanted to admit it, but it hurt me. It weighed down upon my chest like the heaviness of a thousand red bricks piling on top me, relentlessly. The weight bearing me down, pushing me into the Earth and, suddenly, I am a coward. A voiceless coward with the words to fill a million mouths. The same ping that made me feel as empty as a bottle of champagne in the hands of a drunk, heartbroken girl. I am so lost, for I stand in the middle of a labyrinth with a map as intricate as a butterfly sitting in the palms of my trembling hands yet, I am so, utterly lost. The natural bond of trust between a father and his daughter slowly unraveled like a folded sheet of tissue paper. And with every ping that floats through the lifeless air, I hear the piercing cracks of my heart and I feel the bitter pain in my chest. It comes with the suffocating pain that tugs at every fiber of my being. 

Dad, I am so tired of hurting. I am so tired of hearing you say the things that you fail to show. I am so tired of having to listen to my mother’s heart crumbling as I watch the way her searching, red-rimmed eyes fill with tears as she looks for an answer. And I am so tired of having to listen to every ping that you run, so desperately, to answer.

But I will always remember what you told me with that stern look upon your face: ‘A cheater never wins, Sarah. A cheater never wins.’ 

Love, 

Sarah.