By Vivian Paide
“Why’d you make me hit you?” Daddy said. He looked so sad.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll try to be good.” My ear still hurt, but I knew not to rub my head. Even though I had been bad, he bought me ice cream. I didn’t deserve it, ‘cause I still kept being bad.
“Nobody will ever love you like I do,” Daddy said. I knew it was true, but then Todd appeared. Married at eighteen, safe.
“Why’d you make me hit you?” Todd said.
Vivian Paide lives and writes in Hamilton, Ontario.