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It was always the same.
Sid would ask if she wanted company, and she’d tell him her father was coming, even though she knew he wouldn’t, and Sydney knew too. But that was okay, because she was used to it.
Daddy would bring her flowers later to apologise, perhaps take her to dinner, and they’d drink wine and talk about nothing because he didn’t want to talk and she was sick of listening. But that was okay, because she was used to it.
Her phone would ring and she would know who it was, and she never wanted to speak to him but she’d answer it because maybe he’d surprise her, and then he’d leave with out saying goodbye when she needed to hear it the most. But that would be okay, because she was used to it.
She’d act like she could handle it but when she got home she would realize she was really alone in the world, and she would cave in and cry, and nobody would be there to wipe the tears away.
And that would never be okay, because deep down, she couldn’t help thinking she deserved more.

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