Clocked Heart

Chapter 5- Graham

A new house, a new town, and a new chapter in life. It's the kind of fresh start many dreams of, but for me, it's a bittersweet necessity rather than a thrilling adventure.

Change is often welcomed when desired, but in our case, it feels more like an obligation. My daughter, Sky, needs this change more than anyone else. The choice of this specific town was a bit strategic; it was far enough from the city's chaos yet close enough to maintain her therapy sessions. Finding another therapist she could trust would be an uphill battle, especially since she's just beginning to open up.

Skylar was once a vivacious, curious child, but over time, she started to withdraw, a transformation likely triggered by the trauma she experienced at such a young age. At first, I didn't notice the signs—perhaps because we were all overwhelmed by our collective grief, or maybe because it's easy for parents to dismiss unusual behavior as just a phase. The realization came too late, but now, every effort is focused on making life more bearable for her, even if it means uprooting our lives to a town we barely know anything about.

As a father, it tears me apart to see my little girl drifting away. I can't bring back what she has lost, but I can try to fill the void with love and support. It's been three days since we moved into our new home, and while things are going smoothly, Sky woke up in a somber mood today—a stark contrast to her usual brightness.

I was making myself coffee when Sky shuffled into the kitchen. "Good morning, sunshine," I greeted her, setting a mug on the counter.

"Morning, Dad," she replied softly, lifting her arms for me to pick her up. I hoisted her into my arms, her small frame snuggling against my shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, sensing her unease as she buried her face against me.

A pang of anxiety hit me. "Bad dream?" I probed gently, rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles.

She nodded, her voice muffled and fragile. "I miss Mom," she whispered, her words were a knife to my heart.

"I miss her too," I confessed, resting my cheek against her hair.

"Tell me something about Mom," she requested, her grip on me tightening as if to hold onto something solid amidst the waves of her emotions.

I smiled, recalling a memory. "Your mom used to do this thing back in college," I began, slowly untangling her sleep-tousled hair with my fingers.

"What thing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Whenever she felt down, she'd make CD playlists of her favorite songs," I explained, the memory warming my heart. "She'd drive around the city, playing them loud, until she felt better."

"Really?" Sky looked up, her tear-filled eyes wide with wonder.

"Yeah," I nodded, giving her cheek a gentle squeeze. "I think we still have some of her playlists in one of the boxes we brought. Want to go find them?"

A spark of curiosity lit her eyes as she nodded. "But first, how about helping me make breakfast? Then we can hunt down those CDs," I suggested, placing her on the kitchen counter as she wiped her eyes.

"Okay. What are we making?" she asked her dimpled smile a mirror of her mother's.

"Let's see," I mused, opening the fridge. "Pancakes or fried eggs?"

"Pancakes!" she exclaimed with newfound enthusiasm.

"Geez," I chuckled, relieved to see her smile again, even if just for a moment. Together, we set about making breakfast, the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of pancakes and the promise of a better day.