Quiet Not Innocent | ✔︎

Prologue:

A S P E N ♡ W I L S O N
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I used to cry every night for my mother for about three months straight after the divorce happened.

I remember laying in bed with an ache in my heart, being in the cold darkness of my room, and having a difficult time breathing when I thought of her. Then the waterworks started.

I missed her, every single damn day.

But those feelings of despair melted over time and slowly became rage when I started to understand things.

When I saw the way my father refused to get near any other woman, the way every afternoon when he thought I wasn't watching he would hold onto a framed picture of my mother, the way he cried for more than a year straight after the divorce, I was angry for him, for what she did to him.

She tore the happiest man on earth into pieces.

He was a sensitive, good-hearted man who truly cared for the happiness of his family and would do anything for them. He loved to spend his every waking moment with us and the smile on his face never dimmed.

He was the perfect father and the perfect husband, but sometimes we tend to want more than we have.

She was selfish. So selfish.

Even after what she did to him, he tried. He tried hard to be a good father for me and keep his composure. He never let me see him cry and even though his smile was less brighter, he kept it on his face for me. I knew his heart was broken but my father did such a good job at pretending as if he wasn't dying inside.

It's when he got a brain tumor that it really hit me how broken he was.

What hurts the most is that the man who was once full of life and cheer and would fly around the entire world if he could was so damn glad when he heard the cancer was so bad the doctors couldn't do anything about it.

Crazy, right?

Eight months later and in front of his grave, I couldn't shed a single tear.

People behind me were crying, some coming up to me every so often to give me their condolences.

I didn't even know half these people, but that was my father for you. He knew everyone and he knew how to make a place in people's hearts.

"Oh, honey."

I look away from my hands and up at Mrs. Arian who had a napkin in her hand to dab her puffy eyes. She was our neighbor since the beginning of time. She knew our family history to the point where she might as well be apart of the Wilson family.

She drops down to her knees besides me and scoots closer to me, putting an arm around my shoulder to give me a side hug. She pats my hair as she mutters all sorts of things about how missed my father will be and how much she loved him.

"You can cry, sweetheart." She pulls back to look me in the eye, her eyes strict instead of holding sympathy.

"I can't." I whisper.

And I couldn't. I really couldn't.

I felt so empty inside, like someone had dug into me and hallowed me out. I was waiting for the tears as well, waiting for that overwhelming feeling of sadness to wash over me. But it didn't come. Even if I wanted to cry my heart out, my eyes refused to comply.