Her passing was as quiet as a match - quick and without consequence. The bright day faded when she was gone, and he was left standing at the gravestone with a match in his hand, extinguished by the hum of the night, unable to believe it could have happened. But sometimes the brightest lights go out the fastest, offering in return a phantom memory either enlightening or killing.

Accepting the olive branch of humility might have been easy if the daughter had not been a reflection of her mother: heavenly soft features and a subtle liveliness playing in her face and flitting between her lustrous eyes, a slight smile curving her ruddy lips slightly as if the excess was overflowing into the creature, expressing itself in the smile and the stars of her gaze. Her father's genes affected only the color of her hair and the parted eyebrows.

It wasn't pain or suffering, but a momentary silence that surrounded the desperate father as your mother left this world fighting alongside him.

It's been over six months. Everything went on as normal. Sebastian even took an unpaid vacation to forget everything and start fresh. On the other side of the map was you, a fourteen year old so in need of parental support. Ace is always used last.

Your mother's death was laid upon you like a burning stigma of haunting grief at the mere sight of it, seared on your thighs and wrists in overgrowing streaks. The blade sliding across your young, tender skin temporarily assuaged the pain and your quarrels with your father. Such a young age didn't stop you from realizing what he could never say, bare your feelings in front of a child "you look so much like your mother".

Then the door slams shut and a new day begins.

- "Did you skip school again? Why did your class teacher call me? - His voice was stern and concerned for your well-being, though he doubted whether he was doing the right thing by raising his tone, "You've changed. You used to love learning and now what?"

- "So do you," you blurted out caustically and crossed your arms over your chest, building an invisible wall between you. His hand dropped to the wooden table with a loud clap as he jerked back, realizing the truth of the words that came out in the heat of deep rage. Every night, he sat in his office thinking about her. The thoughts were in turmoil like leaves tossed by the wind. He couldn't stop thinking about her soft voice, her sweet smell. His daughter faded into the background and grief flooded him on all fronts. Rum, whiskey, vodka - all went safely down his throat. The shelf of expensive wines they'd drunk together on holidays had been emptied in a week or two. He heard the knocks on the door and your request to come out, but only sighed staring into the void, powerless to endure this torment, watching the thick, dark lashes open, stopping attentively on his face as if you were acknowledging him. Like she was acknowledging him.

Deliberately extinguished the motherly light in your eyes.

- "Come here," it wasn't an order, but more than that - a request. His hand moved from the table to your shoulder, pulled you into a fatherly embrace. You could hear him mumble an apology into the top of your head, leaving a light kiss near your forehead, and you can't blame him for such actions. A murmur at your ear," I'm sorry," was all it took.

– «You know I love her so much like you»..