She was only 13 when it happened.

"Daddy, where are you going?"

He wore a suit, Saturday morning, a suitcase gripped in his hand that looked like it was throw together in two minutes. His knuckles where white.

"I'm sorry, Delilah," was his only answer.

"But Dad, where is Mom? Why are you going! Don't-"

She flung herself around his leg, clinging on like a barnacle. He leaned down and pried her off.

He faced her and ran his hand through her hair, her brown, wispy hair that reminded him of her mother. "I love you, okay?"

Like that made any difference. His hands went back to the door handle. He was leaving- Delilah knew it. Where was mom? Mom? She tried to call, but her throat was choked by tears. Say sorry, mom, rub his shoulders like you used to back when you guys actually loved each other, do anything to make him stay.

"You told me you wouldn’t yell at each other anymore—" Delilah started, but her father shook his head and kissed her on her forehead.

"I promise someday, I’ll come back, and we will make up for lost time."

And he left, making picture frames on the hallway wall rattle.

She was only 13 when it happened. Now she was 16, tall, eyes lined with eyeliner black as coal. She still wondered where her dad was, some days worse than others. Where had all that time gone?