PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
She left him a gift.
She knew he wasn’t likely to acknowledge it. It was possible he wouldn’t know or care where it had come from. It didn’t matter. Or perhaps it did – and terribly – but she could do nothing to change it. Where others sought connection and cultivated relationships, her father’s world revolved around rocks, shells, sticks, pebbles, stones. Those he caressed, inspected, studied, catalogued.
She’d learned to expect nothing. It was the only way to lessen heartbreak.
She left the coral piece on the table. Perhaps if he kept it, it would be as if he saw her.