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My first-grade teacher?
Dad:
That’s the one.
Dad:
She finally got married. I went to her wedding last night.
Dad:
Their vows were perfect. Even the cake was in tiers.
Farrow:
BRB. Bleaching my eyes.
Farrow:
Dad jokes are the worst.
Dad:
We talked about you for a while.
Dad:
(Okay, I bragged about you, and she listened politely.)
Dad:
I’m so proud of you, baby girl. Can’t wait to see you kick ass at your competition this weekend.
Farrow:
Pick a seat in the front this time. :(
Dad:
Promise.
Farrow:
Love you.
Dad:
Love you more.
I sighed, exiting it out of the messages, double-checking that I didn’t accidentally delete them.
I’d grown paranoid when it came to losing tangible memories of Dad. Especially with all of his belongings pawned off.
A single tear threatened to slip down my cheek.
It was true what they said… The happiest memories eventually become the saddest.
Now, I only had one birthday wisher.
