Slowly, bit by bit, with a sure and steady step, he made his way toward the heavy oak door of her father’s den. The brass door handle felt cold against his sweaty palm. He pushed the door open and was startled by the loud creak of aged hinges straining under the weight of such a door. He jumped as it swung open, slowly, bit by bit.
He didn’t want to look flustered, this was too important. He paused to gather his thoughts. He needed to be articulate. He needed to look confident, controlled, worthy. He needed to look like the only person in the world a father would say yes too. He needed her father to say yes. He had never needed anything more in his entire life.
Their child would soon be here. If the offer to work for her father still stood, he’d take it. The time for pride, replaced with the responsibility of providing. He swallowed anxiously. The luxury of making it on their own was something they would continue to aspire to. This was not a hand out he reminded himself. It was putting food in his child’s mouth. It was a hand up. He was not a failure, she had to know – he was not a failure.
I love participating in the daily prompt writing challenges.
However, the main focus at calliemm.com is to share awareness of the rare/uncommon cancer my husband Brendan has…